Harry Potter and Lord Black
by iambloodaxe
Summary: In the cemetery at Little Hangleton, Harry Potter realises his four years at Hogwarts have left him under-prepared to face Voldemort. Help arrives in the most unexpected of forms and together they decide to fight the resurrected evil, for different reasons. With the world on the edge of destruction, will they be able to tip the scales in their balance? M rated to be safe.
1. Chapter 1: The Third Task

**Disclaimer** **:** I claim only the stories as my own, set in the wonderful and magical world created by JK Rowling. I most certainly don't own Harry Potter and I write only for my own pleasure.

 **Author's Note :** Hello readers! I have been reading fanfictions for a long time now, and I love them!

I have been writing stories for quite a while now, but I have never really published anything I have written. For the longest time I have been wanting to publish a fanfiction of my own, and I have finally done it. This story isn't beta'd yet, and if anybody would like to help me, feel free!

Constructive criticisms, compliments and suggestions would be appreciated. I would love to hear if you like what I've begun.

* * *

 _ **Chapter 1**_

**20th June, 1995. Tuesday**

Sitting in the common room, Harry Potter was readying himself for the Third Task, the final task in this godforsaken competition he had never intended being a part of. But that's what being Harry Potter meant- having the hopes of the wizarding world on his shoulders. That, or being the root of all their problems – they never seemed to be able to decide for sure.

Reflecting back on the year, there was but one emotion which filled his heart: hurt. Betrayal- the wounds of Pettigrew's escape were still fresh when he had Aurors pointing wands at his throat, thinking he cast the Dark Mark, and then- he sighed.

 _Ronald Weasley._

He had met Ron on the train to Hogwarts, years ago, and yet, somehow, their friendship was always strained. He had realised Ron was a jealous prat, and yet he had decided to ignore it all for the sake of his 'first friend' in the wizarding world. Only now did he realise that Ron was probably his only friend.

The incident with Parseltongue and Harry being able to speak it had shown him how easy Ron could sway his loyalties, when he too thought the attacks were Harry's doing; naturally, Ron did not say it to his face, but Harry could see it in his eyes.

Following that with the whole incident with the Firebolt and now the Tournament, Harry felt something was trying to wake him up and see Ron for who he was. A jealous, selfish prat.

 _'Potter Stinks!'_

Harry thought about those batches that Draco had made. Word around the castle was it was _Ron_ , who had come up with that phrase, and Harry didn't have too much trouble believing that could be the case- Ron got angry pretty quickly and he did say a lot of hurtful things - almost as if the anger allowed him to finally express himself. It was, after all, what _he_ had said in the first year which had sent Hermione crying to the bathroom, and almost to her death.

 _Hermione Granger_.

He sighed again. _Boy was that girl in his thoughts a lot lately_. She had always been his friend, and somehow, this year, he felt incomplete when he saw her with Viktor. He thought about them and the time they had spent together.

She had risked her life with him – the first year, when she had been with him as he had decided to go save the Stone, the second when she had broken more rules than he cared to count so that she could help him solve the mystery of the Chamber – the foolish girl had even gotten herself petrified; and she could have been killed if she hadn't been careful.

He was extremely thankful she had accompanied him through Fluffy (which is a god-awful name for a Cerberus) and the trapdoor to save the stone. He had no idea if he'd have been able to solve the potions' riddle that Snape had set and choose the right vial – and he wasn't eager to find out either.

He was sure he would never have been able to solve the mystery of Slytherin's monster basilisk and the Chamber of Secrets had it not been for Hermione and her penchant for getting to the bottom of everything she set her mind to: he wasn't sure why she broke as many rules as she did; the reason she did not mind the rule breaking was that her actions meant that Harry was safe – to her that was what mattered; and she'd done it all for him.

"What are you thinking about?" he jumped as he heard the voice of the very person he was thinking about.

"Hermione!" he greeted and patted the seat on the couch next to him.

"So, what were you thinking about? The Third Task?" she asked and Harry nodded.

"I just want this to be over." The entire year had been a nightmare for him, and he just wished for it to be over.

"I know."

And they sat in silence, looking at the fire that was gently wasting away, cackling.

"I wish I hadn't been so stupid then," his eyes focused on the fire, where he had seen Sirius' face often that year.

He felt her hand on his shoulder.

"What are you talking about?"

"Right now? I just wish I had allowed Remus and Sirius to... you know, take care of Pettigrew then and there, in the Whomping Willow. At least I wouldn't have to go back to the Dursley's then." He sighed.

"I'm sure if you talk to Sirius and Professor Dumbledore, he wouldn't mind if you spent some time with Sirius this summer," she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

He shook his head. _'I know Dumbledore will not allow me to leave Number Four: for some reason he chooses to always keep from me, I fear he will keep me at that place, even if it is by force.'_ He voiced his thoughts.

"Maybe," she began, and he could see this was going to be - interesting- judging by how her voice has suddenly dropped a few notes. "Maybe I can write to my parents and we could come get you?"

"You would do that for me?" his heart filled with warmth and the emotional dam began to crack. He turned to look at her and ' _Big mistake!'_ is the only thought which crossed his mind.

There, in her eyes, he could see something he had previously seen only in his dreams – in his nightmares, haunting him; emerald green orbs were the last ones he remembered that he had seen that emotion in.

"Of course I would," she smiled and he could not help but admire how one cheek dimpled when she did that.

He closed his eyes shut and allowed his head to rest on the back of the couch.

"Thank you."

"Oh, cut it, you're my friend aren't you?" another winning smile greeted him.

Another brief moment of peaceful silence passed between the two.

"Thank you," Harry said.

"You already said that," she frowned.

"I meant, thank you for what you did for Sirius. You're the reason I now have a family, albeit he is on the run and –" the rest was muffled by the tangle of hair which tickled his face as Hermione pulled him into a hug.

They stayed that way for a long time, and coming out of it, both of them felt different; more comfortable with each other. Both of them felt something change, and yet, one of the two was too inexperienced and the other too insecure to hope for something more.

That night, Harry Potter found a second reason to not die in the maze.

~oOo~

 **21st June, 1995. Wednesday**

He knew this was going to happen. He knew it was bound to happen sooner, rather than later – and judging by how fast her health had been deteriorating, he was happy for every extra moment he got to spend with her.

The doctors had been unable to diagnose her condition properly – although they could tell she had a case of severe magical fatigue among other things. The nation had been warned to expect this, the Chancellery had been informed – _he_ had been informed.

As if such a warning ever did any good.

"Your Majesty," one of the nurses addressed him. "We must prepare for the travel back to the Palace," she informed, before getting back to her duties.

"And so must you," Diana spoke to him. "We are to leave within the hour. All preparations are complete and everything is ready."

Daniel nodded, as he stood up and took one last look at the lifeless body of his mother, before he began to walk out of the room.

"She didn't deserve to die so young," he spoke as they crossed through the ballroom.

"No she didn't."

"Are those people still here?" he asked, pointing at the locals he could see through the windows. They had been allowed on the grounds when Diana told him about them.

"Yes. They have been here ever since the news of your mothers – condition – had been made public. They've been on the grounds –"

"I know Diana – _I_ allowed them to set up tents on the grounds. What about them, though; have they been informed that the queen is –" _no more_. He couldn't get himself to say it.

"The protocol mandates that the Chancellor be the first person to be informed. And then the Royal Household and the –" she started.

"Do not educate me on my duties, Diana. I have learnt these protocols ever since I could read and write. Has the Chancellor been informed?"

"Yes."

"Very well," he turned around and began walking back toward the room they had left. He was not a lot taller than Diana – he was, however, a very brisk walker. She had to run intermittently to keep up with him.

"York!" he called on the butler. "Fetch me the doctors and the nurses. I am in the Blue Room. Fetch them with haste," and without waiting for an answer, he walked to the Blue Room.

The Blue Room, named after the colour of the walls and the general theme of the room, was one of the rooms with a balcony facing the lawns. He poured himself a glass of water, and gulped it down, just as Diana walked in with the butler and those he had been tasked to accompany.

"Healer Brown, Doctor Jones, nurses," he acknowledged. "Thank you, York. Please inform the public I wish to speak to them."

"What is the condition of my mother?" he addressed them. Clearly unsure of how to answer that question, he was met with silence. "I wish to allow these good people of Nuremberg to be the first ones to pay their respects to the Dowager Queen."

"But, Sir, the Chancellor –"

"Speak only of matters which concern you – I am very well aware of both the protocol and my duties. I wish to place mother in the ballroom for a few hours. Make the necessary preparations – I will give you twenty minutes after which I expect everything to be in place," he said before he turned and walked out onto the balcony.

The medical staff shuffled out of the room as Diana walked through to him.

"Daniel?" she questioned. "Why?"

"These people have been here for days, waiting to hear about their queen. I let them in on the lawns last week, when I was informed – and I just think," he sighed. "I just think they deserve to be the first people to; you know?"

Diana simply nodded, unsure of what she could say to this. She just followed Daniel as he made his way to the address the people on the grounds.

York, it seemed, had done a very good job of informing the people that their monarch wished to address them. She estimated the numbers there to be close to a hundred.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began in flawless German. "My brothers and sister – I'm standing here today to thank you for all you've done for my mother.

"My mother, as you know, was suffering. She was in pain and neither the doctors nor the healers overseeing her treatment knew what to do. I wish to thank you; I wish to thank you for your constant support. I know a lot of you were allowed the opportunity to meet my mother, the Dowager Queen. It pleased me a lot to see that your support meant the world to her.

"I am, unfortunately, the one to bear grave news."

He couldn't say much more as the crowd erupted in cries of horror and anguish.

"As of three hours ago, the Dowager Queen Theodora is no longer with us." Although Daniel stood there, tall and unflinching, his eyes spoke volumes of the grief he was dealing with.

"In such cases, the protocol states that the Chancellor is the first one to be informed and then there is a whole list of people and so on," he gestured. This was hardly a formal speech. "However," he continued, "I wish to allow the people who have been here with her to have the first opportunity to see their queen for the last time.

"York will make sure you know how and when to proceed."

~oOo~

 **21st June, 1995. Wednesday**

" _The Longbottoms were very popular," said Dumbledore. "The attacks on them came after Voldemort's fall from power, just when everyone thought they were safe. Those attacks caused a wave of fury such as I have never known. The Ministry was under great pressure to catch those who had done it. Unfortunately, the Longbottom's evidence was – given their condition – none too reliable."_

" _Then Mr. Crouch's son might not have been involved?" said Harry slowly._

Sitting alone in the Common Room, Harry was wondering what he should make of these revelations. He, of course, had no intention to spread the story about Neville's parents around – hell; he had even spent some time wondering if he got the better of the two hands dealt.

There was a lot Dumbledore wasn't telling him though, and this time, he had a nagging feeling that Dumbledore was hiding something important from him. He hadn't slept for a minute that night, going over things. Now, sitting in the common room, waiting for Ron, he had freshened up a bit, not wanting to look the part. The three of them exchanged greetings before going down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Sitting on the Gryffindor table, watching Ron gobble down food, he felt he had lost what little appetite he had had. Hermione though, had other things on her mind.

"That... that... that utterly nasty, evil bitch!" she exclaimed. This in itself was enough to alert Harry that something was amiss. He looked at her and there she was holding the trash, which the wizarding world called a newspaper.

"Hey Potter! Do we need to have St Mungo's called? Maybe the Potters will join the Longbottoms after all," Malfoy yelled across the hall and Harry's was not the only head that turned around in anger.

Neville dropped his cutlery on the table, stiffened up and audibly gulped. Before Harry could say anything, however, Professor McGonagall stepped in.

"It's a shame, Mr. Malfoy that you have yet to learn simple table etiquette. I do hope you would stop yelling across the hall. Especially the things you have no business talking about anyway. Now, sit down or I shall have you in detention for the rest of the next year." McGonagall had done from gently admonishing to bloody furious toward the end.

Malfoy wasted no time to plant his butt firmly on the bench, to spattered laughter across the Hall. _Alas, the damage had already been done_ Harry thought as he saw Neville walk away from the table.

"One day, I'm going to find how Rita Skeeter gets her information from. And when I do, she is going to be one sorry woman," Hermione glowered as Harry coerced the paper from her hands.

"So, _'disturbed and dangerous'_ is what they are calling me right now eh?" Harry laughed at that. "I really want to find out when they will try and find something new to print, the whole Parseltongue thing is getting old already..." he finished when he had an idea.

"Hey Malfoy, stay away from anything reptilian, especially anything serpentine: you never know, I might just have asked it to murder you in your sleep," he looked Draco in the eye. Then he walked out of the Great Hall, he did have a Task to compete in, all to the sudden burst of laughter which erupted in the Hall at Draco's expense; Draco looked positively scared.

~oOo~

 **24th June, 1995. Saturday**

"Hullo Mrs. Weasley!" Harry greeted the woman who had been the only motherly figure in his life thus far, quite surprised and happy she had made the journey to Hogwarts to watch him in the Third Task. He would have, of course, been delighted if Sirius could've been there too, along with the rest of the Weasley clan, but he knew it was not something possible in the current scenario.

"Surprise!" she called out as she covered the distance and engulfed him in one of her famous ' _Mrs. Weasley hugs_ '.

"The champions' families were invited for the last task," she answered the unasked question. It was a weird feeling that filled Harry when he heard that – he couldn't for the life of him imagine the Dursley's make the effort to visit him at his old school had he been in a similar situation, let alone make their way to Scotland.

"You ready for the task?" Bill asked as he gave Harry a pat on his shoulder. Bill grinned at him when Harry just gave him a smile and a nod as an answer.

As they moved toward a little corner of the side chamber, Hermione made her way toward the group. It seemed to Harry that Mrs. Weasley had taken the article to heart, considering how she answered Hermione's enthusiastic greeting almost mechanically to . Harry decided to observe them a little more before he said anything about it.

They spent the morning going around the grounds, adoring the visitors' accommodations; Hogsmeade was out of bounds however, and soon they were back in the Great Hall and Harry quickly excused himself- he needed to go prepare for the task.

"Is something the matter," Hermione asked Mrs. Weasley when Harry took his leave.

"No, nothing at all," Mrs. Weasley forced a smile.

"Is this about the article in the Prophet?" Hermione had to ask. She needed to know if Mrs. Weasley believed Skeeter.

Mrs. Weasley looked on at Hermione; the entire time here eyes were frigid, almost as if she had a grudge against Hermione.

"What if it is?" she asked finally.

That left Hermione speechless. Here she was being accused by someone who she doted on as an aunt, being blamed based on the words of a journalist; Mrs. Weasley _knew_ the Prophet was not always true, and yet here she was, blaming Hermione.

Hermione just stared at Molly Weasley, utterly speechless, her mouth wide open like a fish out of water. With a harrumph Molly walked out on Hermione. Hermione sat down on the floor, her eyes filling up with tears.

Harry met her before the task, and he did notice something was amiss, but he had a Cup to get. With a quick goodbye hug, Harry Potter entered the maze.

~oOo~

 **22nd June, 1995. Thursday**

The entire procession was moving far too slowly – they were already a half hour behind schedule and they had barely reached the Hall of the Eternal Flame, where his mother would be allowed to rest in state, before being given a royal burial. As were her wishes, she would be cremated – which would also carried out in the Hall, albeit in a strictly private setting.

The procession had barely made it past the statue of Olga the Kind.

The entire procession was to move through the square and onward, moving through the heart of the city until it reached the Hall of the Eternal Flame. The procession was scheduled to take at least three hours, and that was without the surprise which awaited the procession at the Palace.

The city-state of Wilhelmsberg was named after its first ruler – Wilhelm Leopold Viktor – a prince denied his birthright and exiled from the land he was born. When he had died, passing away in his sleep, a unicorn had arrived at the gates of the Palace on the day of the procession. The entire household had been unsure of what was to be done, until the unicorn provided the answer herself – she began to lead the horses which carried the king, to the place where he would be buried.

It was said, when no unicorn arrived at the deaths of the following kings, that the original unicorn had been sent by Magick herself – and she continued to do so for every deserving monarch who had followed him; who wished to serve his people but had been robbed of the opportunity to serve his land.

There was nobody who knew what to do when _two_ unicorns had arrived to grace the procession of the Dowager Queen.

"It's the unicorns, isn't it?" Diana asked the person who had come to inform them _why_ the procession was moving slower than planned.

"Yes, my Lady; it seems that although the presence of _one_ unicorn had been factored, nobody had thought the possibility that there would be a couple of unicorns."

"Are they a couple then? I had heard that they are indeed a male and a female, but are they a couple?"

"I have no idea, my Lady. It isn't hard to say 'yes' to that though – the people are already talking about it."

"What do you mean?"

"They're saying the King is here to welcome his queen to the other side," she was informed. "They believe that the loss of the Dowager Queen has aggrieved Magick herself; it is Magick who is helping King Viktor to this plane of existence – all so that he may be with his people on last time."

Diana was stunned into silence. The loss of their king was untimely and unexpected - and the cause of death had never really been made public: she couldn't find anything on the public records. It seemed as if the people wanted to use this opportunity to pay their respects to both, the king and his wife.

~oOo~

Built to replicate the Parthenon, the structure of the Hall was similar to it – and although they both were built ages apart, the nuances of the older system of architecture had been reproduced admirably well.

The sanctuary in the Hall was built to accommodate enough to seat an entire Royal Dinner – and over the years, it had been used as a platform for the king to meet his subjects in an informal setting to know what was happening in the state and kingdom.

At one end of the Hall, the farthest end from the Palace, which overlooked a cliff, sat a fire which had burned ever since it had been brought from a magical fire by the king himself. It had been kept burning and had weathered extremes of nature – and continued burning.

"How many people do you think will visit?"

The Royal Tent had been pitched on the other side of the cliff, from where the procession had made its way, snaking across the hill. Diana, along with a few other people sat in the lounge.

"I'm not sure – the entire kingdom would have arrived if it could, I think," Diana answered. "What threw all calculations off balance was the arrival of _two_ unicorns, instead of one. I think we may have to postpone the cremation."

"That will not happen," Daniel said as he entered, having caught the end of her statement. All the occupants in the room quickly rose from their seats but he gestured for them to sit down.

"I have been talking with the people overseeing the management of this procession and I have already informed that the cremation will be carried out tomorrow without delay. I have asked them to make changes to the viewing platform, allowing more people to be able to pay their respects at once."

Diana watched as her king went into the kitchen, making use of this time to look at the others gathered around. There were four other people who had arrived at the Wilhelmsberg Palace after she had returned with Daniel. She knew all of them by name – she had heard their of them several times, but this was the first time she was meeting them together.

"I'm really sorry for your loss, Danny," the raven-haired girl rose to envelope Daniel in a hug as he returned. The other three quickly joined in, echoing her words. If it wasn't for the ever so slight widening of his eyes, Diana wouldn't have realised he was happy to see them – his face was impassive as ever.

"Thanks a lot," he began removing himself from the group hug. "It means a lot that you guys could be here."

"Of course we would be here!" the same raven-haired girl replied, almost outraged. "You thought we would leave you alone in a time like this?" she challenged. "Even without the pledge –"

"Come, now, Sarah," Jordan interrupted. "You know he didn't mean anything like that."

"Exactly," Daniel quickly added. "All I meant was, the last I checked, you guys were halfway across the globe," he told her.

"Oh?" Sarah asked. "Where did you get the last letter from?"

"The last one I think was the one I received from Thailand."

"Whoa!" Sarah exclaimed. Daniel raised an eyebrow as he made his way to the couch beside Diana. "Thailand feels like ages ago," she reminisced.

"Months," Bradley cut in, his American accent quickly grabbing Diana's attention. "Thailand was a quick visit – the women wanted a beach and none of us had been to Thailand, so," he shrugged.

"So the _women_ wanted the beach?" Olivia questioned. "My brother is choosing to forget –"

"Moving on," Bradley cut in, trying to drown his sister's voice. "So after Thailand we went to India."

"Where we were, when we found out about mother." Olivia finished. The conversation had come to an abrupt halt – and Diana was beginning to dislike the silence in the room. Jordan hadn't left his post by the entrance to the tent, Sarah was busy tending to her perfect hair and the siblings seemed to be having a conversation of their own.

"So, what did you guys do in India?" Diana asked.

The others looked as if they were deciding if she could be told; Jordan, on the other hand, needed no time to ponder _that_ question. He had been at Wilhelmsberg before, and was acquainted with Diana.

"We were trying to learn Magick," he answered.

"I don't understand..." she began.

"I will explain everything later," Daniel effectively ended the conversation before any of the others could interrupt.

"Aren't you a muggle?" Sarah questioned. "What?" she questioned as she caught everyone stare at her. "I couldn't sense anything when I went past her – that means she's either _really_ good at hiding it, or not magical at all."

"She's a muggle alright," Jordan answered. "Is there a problem with that?"

"What! I didn't mean anything," she replied. "I was just curious about why _she_ was curious."

"After the cremation, we will talk about it," Daniel said. "Bradley, how would you like to cook dinner tomorrow?"

"You're allowing me to help you cook?" Bradley asked, shocked. "Yes! Of course, I would love that."

Daniel had cooked for Diana before, and evidently, he had done it for them too. As the group closed in, discussing what they'd like, Diana walked to Jordan, dragging along an ottoman to join him by the door of the tent.

"Are they always like this?" she questioned.

"Yeah," he ran a hand through his hair as he continued. "We are quite a diverse group, really – Daniel is from Wilhelmsberg, Sarah has her roots in more countries than I care to list – and then there are the American twins; every time I think about how we all came together, I cannot help but think Magick had a hand in it all the while."

Diana was absorbing everything – Jordan, it seemed, was more amenable to opening up in the company of his friends. She had spoken with him before, but he had never spoken anything about himself – or the other people in the room.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Jordan paused a second. "I'm not sure, Diana – I mean, if Daniel hasn't said anything..." he looked away.

"Oh," Diana replied, hurt. "Oh, well, I guess, that's alright," she forced a smile. "I think I need some water."

~oOo~

 **24th June, 1995. Saturday**

His memory was hazy and when he finally came to, he was tied to the headstone, the name a morbid reminder of something he knew would happen soon. He knew the Dark Lord was up to something ever since his name had popped out of the goblet and now, as much as he would like to be home sipping chocolate, here he was, tied to a stone, his scar split open and his head still hurting like crazy.

He tried to wriggle his hands, but it seemed like Wormtail had done a pretty good job of tying him to the stone.

He felt the blood on his face, and he felt the blood on his hand. A chill blew across the grave that brought back the pain in his exposed skin on his head and judging by the way his left hand hurt, he figured it was cut too.

It was then that he noticed the man being formed from the mist that had enveloped the cauldron. Only then did he notice the white wand, with a serpentine handle, one he remembered vividly from his nightmares.

He looked to his right, and he saw Cedric, sprawled on the floor, dead. The Triwizard Cup was there lying next to him. If only he could get his hands on the cup...

Cedric had been the first casualty of the war which had just begun.

"Robe me," the man hissed and a cowering Wormtail held open a robe which the man slipped into effortlessly.

Harry could see the red eyes, bright red, almost as if a flame was burning in his eyes, the eyes which bore into him but there was no acknowledgement of his existence.

"Give me your hand," the man, if the abomination could be called that, hissed again, a hiss which echoed into the night which had become silent, eerily so.

Wormtail held out the hand he had cut and offered as a sacrifice, a stump, a visible reminder of the prices exacted by magic.

"T-t-t-hank y-you, M-m-master," Wormtail whimpered.

"The other hand!" the Dark Lord admonished.

Harry observed the hideous snake as it snaked its way around the skull; the infamous Dark Mark, a taint Harry had never seen before, but here it was, for him to see. The revulsion in his eyes, had anyone seen it, would have stopped them in their tracks. Harry here had the best seat in the house for a show he would have paid to _not_ be a part of. Hell, he would have paid his entire damned fortune for it to never happen.

Alas, his money was neither asked, nor would it have made a difference.

He saw as, one by one, the _Masked Murderers_ , as Harry thought of them, apparated into the graveyard. As each silver masked wizard apparated into the graveyard, Harry shuddered as he thought about these people: here, lining up in front of a half-blood were the _nobles_ of this wizarding society.

"Welcome," Voldemort hissed. Cowering at the sound of his voice, the Death Eaters took a step back. Then, slowly, almost as if afraid of pain or death, they made their way toward their master. Voldemort's eyes widened a bit at that and his followers fell down to their knees, almost as if a curse was whizzing toward them. Judging by the fury in those red eyes, it was just as well that they did not wait to find out if that did happen.

"Welcome, my friends," he spat the last word. "It seems like forever, these thirteen years, thirteen years of my life, _thirteen years_ that I have waited, for one of you to come find me. I had believed us united, I had believed us fighting for a cause we all believed in, and I had believed we would all fall under the Dark banner and change the world.

"And yet, I stand here today, and the only thing I see in you, is not the loyalty or faith I expected, but fear. And guilt. There is a stench of guilt in the air...

"M-master, please, forgive us master," a Death Eater fell on his knees, as he crawled inward from the circle of followers that had formed around the Dark Lord. He crawled, and Harry couldn't help but laugh at that: here was the wizarding nobility, crawling like a slave, grovelling in front of a half-blood; a powerful one at that, but still, a mere half-blood.

" _Crucio_!" the Dark Lord hissed and Harry shut his eyes, awaiting the pain he thought was coming; he was worried that Voldemort had heard him laugh. Instead, he heard the screams of the Death Eater, who was lying on the floor, trying his best, and failing miserably, to endure the torture curse without making a spectacle of himself.

"You believed a mere _boy_ vanquished me; _me_ who's power you had seen, me, the one wizard even the great Albus Dumbledore feared; and you thought a mere boy could break my will, overcome the power of the great Lord Voldemort?

"Pathetic!" he yelled. "You want forgiveness, Bulstrode? You have _thirteen years_ of forgiveness to earn. The Dark Lord may forgive you spineless creatures, who ran away to Albus Dumbledore at the first instance; you shall find out soon, that the Dark Lord does not forget. You have betrayed the Dark Lord once, and he _will_ remember this."

"I-I-I came, master," the rat whispered from his position on the ground, still in pain over the cut hand.

"Because you are a filthy little coward," Voldemort kicked Wormtail who was trying to get up and kneel. With a thud, Wormtail was on the ground once more, sobbing.

"You came back because you were afraid of your friends. You came back because you thought I would protect you. You are a filthy spineless coward who deserves nothing more than to live as the rat you are. And yet..." here the Dark Lord shifted his gaze from the pathetic excuse of a man on the ground to the pathetic excuses of men standing in the circle.

"And yet, Wormtail, you came back to me. You found me, a shadow of what I was, and you nursed me back to health. You Wormtail have begun to pay your debt to me...

"Rise," he said, almost royally. Harry looked on as he saw the Dark Lord make a hand of what looked like silver, and he was amazed to see how the hand fit seamlessly on the stump.

"T-t-thank you, my Lord," Wormtail managed between sobs.

Harry listened to Voldemort talk to his followers, admonishing some, torturing others, and he listened. He listened to the names being spoken: Avery, Bulstrode, the Carrows, Fawley, Flint, Malfoy, Nott, Parkinson, Rowle, Selwyn, Travers, and Yaxley and of course, the Lestranges were mentioned. Voldemort held the Lestranges dear to him: they had never renounced him unlike all the others who had.

"So good of you to join us here, Harry Potter," Voldemort had finally turned his attention to Harry.

"Honestly, I'd rather be back home," Harry answered, not really sure what led him to say that; but the grin on his face was what infuriated the Dark Lord more.

"You think this a joke," he asked.

"No, I'm just sad your _friends_ ," he nodded to the Death Eaters, "chose such a lousy place to celebrate your rebirth."

"You think this is a lousy place? This is the village of Little Hangleton; this is the village where Salazar Slytherin's line saw its latest heir rise to serve his great cause, the place where his heirs have lived and carried on his legacy for several generations. You think this is just a cemetery? This is the cemetery where my fool of a father was buried after I killed him -"

"You mean your _muggle_ father," Harry spoke.

"You dare!"

"You filthy half-blood!" a Death Eater screamed.

"I will kill you myself if you touch him, scum," Voldemort took offence to someone threatening to kill Harry and that proclamation was quickly followed by a _Crucio_.

"Nobody will touch Harry Potter, he is mine," the tone he used made it pretty clear this was not debatable, although Harry wondered if anything was, especially when considering one might be debating with Lord Voldemort.

"You throw accusations at me, you, a mere child. I am glad you chose to be here today. Many here doubt me, many here think me weak, they believe in the fables Dumbledore has fed the wizarding world; we will put an end to this today, Harry Potter.

"Wormtail, untie Mr. Potter and hand him his wand," Voldemort swept his hands, almost as if gesturing Wormtail to do it quickly. His declaration was followed by several gasps, and ooh's and aah's.

"Stand aside," he swept his hands and the Death Eaters circled around him were thrown backwards. He had just cleared the field for himself.

"Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, Dumbledore's Champion, against I, Lord Voldemort, heir of the great Salazar Slytherin, the greatest wizard to ever live; we will end this tonight, what began thirteen years ago, on that Halloween night in Godric's Hollow."

"You just spent the last half hour blabbering about how I was a _mere boy_ and now you want to fight me? So that's what the _great_ Lord Voldemort does now is it? He fights children to show his stooges that he is better."

Harry wasn't sure it was wise to goad the Dark Lord, but he was thinking on his feet and during his entire taunt, he had surreptitiously moved closer to the Cup.

Harry knew if it came to an actual fight, he stood literally no chance against Voldemort, and quite frankly, it scared the shit out of him. All these years, ever since he set foot in Hogwarts, he _knew_ that Voldemort was not dead, he knew that Voldemort would come back to finish what he had started and he was furious at himself since he had done _nothing_ to try to prepare himself for this eventuality.

"Young Harry here thinks I would not notice him getting closer to the Cup," Voldemort smiled. Harry found out he did not like the most dangerous wizard alive when he smiled. It was a very twisted, sadistic smile, not because he was disfigured, more so because the smile felt very much out of place on the serpentine features of his face.

" _Crucio_!" Voldemort yelled.

Harry thought he knew pain. He thought the time when Aunt Petunia had hit him on his head with the frying pan, when Vernon had thrashed him, broken a couple of ribs and his arm, when Dudley had thought it wise to use him as a punching bag for himself and friends to practise, that he had felt what pain was.

When the torture curse hit Harry, who had literally frozen in his spot, Harry rediscovered pain. It was worst than anything he had ever imagined. His head was about to burst open, his nerves were splitting open with the sudden chemical signals which told his body he was in pain. He could hear a scream in the distance, and he realized too late it was his own voice.

What felt like years but lasted less than twenty seconds, Voldemort had lifted the curse but his ears were still ringing. Although he could hear nothing, judging by their faces, he was sure those assholes were laughing.

He felt himself being pulled to his feet, and he could barely stand; so the second the support was taken away, he slumped back onto the ground again. After a few more tries, he had managed to support his weight on his own feet, although he was dying to just drink a cauldron full of pain relieving potion followed by another for dreamless sleep and sleep until the next week.

He knew if he was going to die today, he would die with his head held high. He would die like a man, he would die like a man who knew what sacrifices others had made for him, and he would die trying to the best of his ability to beat the shit out of that asshole.

"So, you tortured a child," Harry was surprised how sore his throat was and it was quite a task to speak; although if he was honest to himself, it was worth seeing the smug grin getting wiped off that face.

"Look around, people, _that_ is your great Lord," Harry stumbled and went down on one knee. He was panting, but he pulled himself up once more. "Look at him, how that half-blood has you kissing his feet and you filthy stupid fuckers thinks he's the greatest thing to happen to your fucking cause.

"I know you Voldemort; I've been in your head –"

"-And maybe it's time for me to be in yours," Voldemort interrupted.

"And that is beside the point, asshole. You abduct a child who had almost been killed trying to complete the task for a competition which _you_ got me into the first place; which by the way is a stupid idea- what if the dragon had eaten me or what if I had drowned? I mean, do you even think your plan through?

"On top of that, you keep me tied to a fucking gravestone, you ' _Crucio_ ' me and now you want to kill me in front of all of your stooges and achieve what exactly?

"I am pretty sure any of these buffoons could murder a child; hell I'm sure they've all done it before. What makes you killing me any more special than Malfoy killing somebody else?" Harry wasn't sure if this plan would work, but he knew the Cup was within reach. He knew he could ' _Accio_ ' it and be on his way back, but he didn't want to leave Cedric Diggory there. He was trying to get into a good position to pounce on the spread-eagled body and _then_ summoning the cup.

"What happens now," Harry asks. He needed a few more minor adjustments to his stance to make sure he could do it right. The body was to his right and the Cup was further on the same side. His left hand was injured and he wasn't sure if he could hold the body he entire way back to Hogwarts. He _had_ to figure something out.

"What happens now?" Lord Voldemort mocked. "Now – we fight."


	2. Chapter 2: Mourning

**Disclaimer:** The wonderful world of Harry Potter is the brainchild of JK Rowling. I write for my own pleasure and make no profit. Hope you enjoy!

 **Author's Note:** Firstly, I would like to thank everybody who has reviewed, followed and set this story as a favourite. Secondly, I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!

* * *

 ** _Chapter 2_**

 _There is something about death which strikes a chord in everyone's mind; it is disturbing and yet calming – it is unnatural to see someone you love, leave and yet it is inevitable – our birth has only one conclusion – and Death cares not about the character of the person; for His only aim is to take away our beloved for himself – and yet, we embrace death._

 _Death is the only way of existence, for without death, there cannot be birth; without death, we cannot exist. As odd as this seems, it is the truth;_

 _What is also true is that nothing can truly fill the massive hole which a person leaves in our lives after death. The only real remedy for that is time – but time doesn't heal these wounds; time just teaches us to not revisit them – and I'm sure one day, as is inevitable, I will visit these wounds; in search of closure._

 _Death works in a peculiar manner – I have always wondered why Death chooses to take the best among us the earliest. There are so many people alive – and these minions of chaos and selfish ministrations still foul the earth we live on, while those who live their lives as a beacon of hope, peace and prosperity are taken away from us – Death is always untimely; in this case, it was also unbearable._

 _It bodes not to dwell on the past, for the soul must move on – I am eternally grateful to the love you have shown your queen. Her will to live was astounding – and_ you _fuelled her fire; each time the people were allowed to visit her, I could see it in her eyes – and her body had given up hope but her indomitable spirit was fighting till the very end. She has finally found peace from her suffering._

 _The best among us are the first to depart, but let us always remember the impact they have on our lives, let us remember what they stood for when they were alive – and let us keep the eternal flames burning._

~oOo~

 **24** **th** **June, 1995. Saturday**

" _What happens now," Harry asked. He needed a few more minor adjustments to his stance to make sure he could do it right. The body was to his right and the Cup was further on the same side. His left hand was injured and he wasn't sure if he could hold the body he entire way back to Hogwarts. He had to figure something out._

" _What happens now? Now – we fight."_

Harry had heard about how fierce the Dark Lord had been in the First War, when he had led the attacks himself. He had picked up ends of conversations and newspaper articles from the library; he knew that Lord Voldemort had been called the most dangerous Dark Lord of all time.

Harry now had the opportunity to test these claims for himself; an opportunity he did not see until it was almost too late. He barely managed to dive out of its path, away from the Cup and Cedric's body.

A violent purple curse flew past where he had been moments ago and it hit something, a gravestone Harry thought. Harry rolled over and crouched behind a gravestone and the onslaught of spells continued to fly past him.

He was now farther away from the Cup for him to even think about going for it, which left him with only one option: to fight. It wasn't a very appealing option, but since it was the only one he had, he figured he might as well get on with it; especially since the gravestone was buckling under the onslaught of magic.

"Hiding behind the dead, Harry?" Voldemort taunted as he stopped his onslaught of spells.

Harry took this opportunity, quickly rose from behind said gravestone and put everything he could in an ' _Expelliarmus!'_ which flew as a bright cackling red streak from the tip of his wand, speeding toward Voldemort.

When it seemed like he was going to hit his target, Voldemort batted the spell away with his hand, and it hit some Death Eater who was too slow to move out of the deflected spell's path.

Harry did not have time to marvel at how effortlessly his spell had been deflected; his attention had been captured by the red eyes, glowing with anger. All around him, the Death Eaters rustled, surprised to see a mere boy had almost landed a spell on the Dark Lord.

"It seems I have misjudged you, Harry Potter," he hissed and a shiver ran down Harry's spine.

Harry had marvelled at the speed and ferocity of the spells the Dark Lord had sent his way before. Now, he made _that_ seem like he was just warming up, toying with him.

Spell after spell, almost all of which he didn't even recognise, were coming his way faster than ever before, so much so that he could barely distinguish one spell from the other.

Harry had never been in such a situation before. Unprepared for such a scenario, now that he found himself _in_ one, he stood frozen in his place. He knew in his mind he should at least try to move out of the way of the spells, and if he could, muster a shield at the least. And yet he stood there, frozen as if in stone, waiting for the spells to meet their target.

And then something happened which he didn't really understand, and didn't really recognise happening until after it already had.

The eleven inches of Holly and Phoenix Feather rose as if on its own accord and something, a spell he didn't recognise, a Magick so old and forgotten, not even Dumbledore could say he would have expected this; a burst of Magick left his body and shot out of the wand.

Harry had been abused all his life by the Dursley's and he thought he knew pain. What he was feeling right now was something he couldn't have even thought of; a pain caused not by an external injury, but it was like his body was a conduit for something stronger, something bigger, something operating on scales he couldn't even imagine. It was something he knew he was ill-equipped to handle or understand and had no chance to stop or commandeer, and yet he resisted it with everything he could.

He felt himself burning up from the inside; he was full of Magick, channelling the energy against the Dark Lord.

Voldemort could say with confidence he was one of the most knowledgeable wizards of his generation, and yet, this was something he had only read about in a fleeting glance, but never seen being used, never prepared to defend against, never even considering the possibility of it being used against him. It was an abstract concept; so abstract that even _he_ had given up pursuing it.

He felt, before he could actually see, the energy building up, and just as the Magick left Potter's wand in a flash of white, a phoenix screeching its way toward him; all he could do to avoid being obliterated was apparate away, which left a group of helpless Death Eaters to face the oncoming spell: the spell went through them and into the slope of a hill. After it was over, all that was left was a huge crater on the slope of the hill; there was no sign of the Death Eaters, almost as if they had been vaporised.

Tom Riddle looked at Harry Potter who had fallen to his knees, his wand forgotten. He decided to end this threat at once.

Harry looked up in time to see the Killing Curse make its way toward him and he realised he didn't have his wand – he had dropped it in shock. All he managed was to raise his hand and will the Cup and Cedric's body toward him. The spell hit Cedric in the back and Harry grabbed his wand and the Cup and felt the now-familiar, yet disorienting tug of a portkey.

He landed face-first on the grass. He could see feet shuffle toward him and he turned over, the body of Cedric lying limp under him. He saw Dumbledore and Fudge and another man who was already wailing, possibly Cedric's father; he did look familiar but he could barely see the man, due to the light on his face.

"He's back!" was all Harry managed to say.

~oOo~

 **25** **th** **June, 1995. Sunday**

Standing in front of the enormous windows, Daniel allowed the turbulence of his mind to be subdued by the tranquillity of the view in front of him. The hills in front of him sloped gently, the trees gradually giving way to buildings as the land levelled, before the buildings gave way for Nature once more as the beach met the ocean, embracing the capital of his kingdom.

He could see the trees swaying in the breeze and the waves gently breaking as they reached the coast, he could see the traffic in the city which moved at a rather sluggish pace; almost as if having imbibed the suffocating melancholy in the atmosphere. The death of their Queen was not something they would get over in a couple of days.

The study had become a refuge for Daniel. Ever since he returned from Crimson Lodge, he had taken increasingly more interest in how his mother ran his kingdom. Consequently, the two rooms he occupied most were his office in the West Wing and this study.

The study offered him silence; the very silence he was using to go over the last few weeks he spent with his mother. The house at Nuremberg was her favourite place of retreat; it had been acquired a century ago and had survived two wars without significant structural damage.

He poured himself some coffee.

The last couple of days had been excruciating; his mother could barely move and with the healers having given up, the only thing keeping her alive was this muggle apparatus. It was very difficult for him to watch the ever proud frame of his mother wither to a frail existence, surviving only due to the muggle contraptions and tubes. Several times he wished to walk in and end her suffering; a part of him, however, hoped that all these contraptions might actually succeed in making her better once again.

Hope. He scoffed as he thought about it. Only the helpless banked on hope. He hated being helpless. A knock on the door drew his attention away from the sense of helplessness which had begun to creep into him.

"York!" Daniel greeted his butler as he opened the door. "Time to get ready for the meeting, then?" he checked his watch.

"The Admiral has already left for the palace," York informed. "He should arrive shortly."

"Why am I meeting him right now?" Daniel grumbled as he made his way to the coffee he had poured.

"The Admiral wrote the information you must know is important," York replied. "It's an issue of security – _Codename_ _Jack_."

" _Jack_? Do you know what he's talking about?" Daniel asked as he finished his coffee and walked to a closet.

"I do know it has something to do with the Isles," York turned away as Daniel changed into a pair of grey pants and a light blue shirt.

"I think you forgot your tie, sir?" York wondered as he looked at Daniel.

"No," Daniel shook his head as he pulled on a jacket. "I want the Admiral to know this isn't the best time to meet."

"Very well," York nodded. An elf popped in to inform the Admiral had arrived at the palace. "I will have him escorted to the West Parlour," York said as he left.

"I will be there shortly," Daniel sighed. He grabbed himself a cookie as he walked toward the parlour.

Wilhelmsberg being an island nation, the navy had always been the heart of its defences. In the early years of Wilhelmsberg, the navy had been the used extensively to secure the freedom of the Island from its neighbours. Over the years, Wilhelmsberg had secured a safe position for herself in the ocean, subsequently the size of the naval fleets were reduced.

Unique to the Wilhelmsberg Navy was the fact that magical and non-magical people stood together in the defence of their nation.

The Statute of Secrecy was not applicable here; the statute had been enforced as a way to safeguard the lives of the magical people from the muggle attacks and witch hunts. With the muggles in the land living peacefully with their magical neighbours, there was no grounds to justify imposing said statute.

This helped the navy – their peacekeeping forces were the most efficient in the world.

The Office of the Admiral of Defence was the highest post in the defence structure of Wilhelmsberg, and Admiral James Stuart had served as the head for nearly half a decade. He had been a close friend of Daniel's mother and had been to the palace often. Daniel wondered if this meeting was to offer his condolences personally.

York announced him as he entered the Parlour and the Admiral shot up from the chair in a crisp salute. Daniel nodded in acknowledgement.

"York," Daniel spoke as he sat down. "Please inform the others that I am not to be disturbed."

York nodded and left the room.

"How may I help you, Admiral," Daniel began as soon as York closed the doors.

"I would like to begin with apologising for the timing of my visit," the Admiral said, "And offer my most sincere condolences at your loss."

"Thank you," Daniel nodded. "The nature of your letter suggests something somewhere has changed, am I right?" Daniel asked.

"Indeed sir. The last orders we received were to monitor and notify any changes at the earliest," the Admiral continued, "Which brings me here now."

"Your office has always been prompt," he noted with a smirk.

"A compliment of the highest order," the Admiral noted with a smile.

"So, tell me why ' _Codename Jack_ ' is so high on our list of emergencies."

Admiral Stuart placed a file on the table. Although the thick file had been dated nearly two decades old, the latest update had been done very recently – yesterday.

Daniel picked the file up and flipped through the first few pages and frowned. When he had begun taking over from his mother, one of the earliest departments he had taken an interest in were the navy. He had taken the time to go through the naval archives of the last several decades, beginning at the First World War, and ending at the final peacekeeping mission conducted on behalf of the ICW in pirate infested waters.

Daniel was not gifted with an eidetic memory, but he would surely know if he had gone through a file as thick as this.

"Edgar!" Daniel called his elf. Edgar popped nearby promptly. "Go to my personal archives and search for my notes on this file. Ignore the latest date and search by date created." The elf walked to the desk to look at the dates mentioned, when the Admiral spoke.

"Excuse me, sir, but you will not have any notes on this file," he finished.

Daniel narrowed his eyes as he looked at the Admiral who had just confirmed what Daniel had already concluded – he was never shown this file. The elf bowed and popped away.

"Very well," Daniel nodded. "Why is this file so important that its contents must be discussed the day I cremate my mother?" his irritation mildly showing through in his tone.

"I apologise for the timing, but I am merely following orders."

"The final report was filed yesterday," Daniel observed. "I believe your orders were to inform me at once?"

"Yes, sir," was the brief reply. The Admiral drank some water before he began explaining.

"An intelligence outfit was created at the turn of the century, called the Naval Intelligence Command. During both wars, the Command operated on several fronts, providing the magical and the muggle forces with invaluable intelligence, taking several counterintelligence measures simultaneously."

Daniel tapped the file with his fingers as he listened to the Admiral. The entire narrative was brief; there were several operations conducted by the Naval Command, and all operations were reported under a _Codename_. This file on his table was the first file he had ever received with reports filed by the intelligence service, with ' _Jack_ ' used to refer to their neighbours across the ocean.

"After the last war with the wizard Grindelwald, the Command came up with a threat monitoring program. The outline was simple – gather information and assess if a situation was a potential threat to the king or to the kingdom.

"With rumours about the rise of another dark lord getting stronger from Britain, we had to see for ourselves. So, we sent some of our personnel into Britain in all sorts of places. Some of them were sent into the ministry, others were sent into the muggle world, to see if the wizarding world was in danger of exposure. That file contains all reports filed by personnel who were sent to investigate the claims.

"The initial reports concluded that there was, indeed, a dark lord rising to power. He called himself Lord Voldemort, choosing to gather followers among the pureblood nobles of their society. These followers of his were called Death Eaters.

"Why the noble chose to follow a dark lord has several answers, including their personal desires to dominate the muggles, greed or their want for fame and notoriety. They murdered, raped and tortured muggles and muggleborns, killing mercilessly. Their death count in the early years consisted mainly of muggles, using 'Unforgiveable Curses' without any sort of moderation."

"What are ' _Unforgiveable Curses_ '?" Daniel questioned. He had learned a lot about Magick, and never had he heard such a classification of curses.

"Wizarding Britain has chosen to classify three particular spells as a one-way ticket to life in Azkaban, their prison. One of them is the 'Imperious Curse', which gives the person who cast the spells complete control over another; subject of course to the mental strength of the victim.

"The second curse, and in my opinion the worst of the lot, is a torture curse, called the 'Cruciatus Curse'. The effects of the curse vary based on the power and will of the caster; ranging from mild pain and discomfort to being tortured to insanity. There is no cure for the extreme case of exposure to the Cruciatus. The only mercy they have left is death.

"Which brings me to the last and final of the three Unforgivable Curses: the Killing Curse. That particular curse needs no explanation. It hits you and you drop dead," the Admiral completed.

"This makes no sense," Daniel frowned. "There are spells which dissolve bones, sever limbs, arteries, boil your blood, do things more horrific than I care to state – but a curse which kills someone painlessly is banned?"

"That is not all: these curses are classified as Unforgiveable Curses _only_ when used on another wizard," the Admiral informed.

"I am not going to try to understand this logic," Daniel smiled. It was no wonder the muggles had turned on the wizards: if the wizarding governments were condoning attacks on muggles, it was only natural that the muggles retaliate!

"Back to this Voldemort person," Daniel urged the Admiral to continue.

"Lord Voldemort was a master Legilimens. During those early years of recruitment, he personally chose the people who were allowed to enter into his service – sending a spy into his ranks then was a risk."

"He was classified as not a threat in these reports," Daniel had begun flipping through the early reports in the file.

"The early assessment led us to believe that, until we saw his influence spread across the continent."

This had become intriguing. "The continent?" Daniel was surprised. "After the enormous losses on both sides in the last war, I had thought people would know better than to march under another banner!"

"One only really understands war when one has seen it – by then it is already too late to do anything about it," the Admiral noted. "The young blood in their veins marched foolishly in the name of what they believed, searching for fame, acceptance and even meaning in the war."

"They seek glory in the wars they fight," Daniel scoffed.

"Your Majesty, there is only one end to any war: suffering. It doesn't matter who wins, war destroys both sides," the Admiral voiced his opinion.

A knock on the door broke the silence as York walked in with a tea service.

"Tea and sandwiches sir," York announced the contents of the trolley as he entered the room. One look at the faces of the silent occupants wiped the smile off his face. "It seems these aren't the best of times for a cheerful face," York smiled sadly at the Admiral before turning questioningly to Daniel. With an imperceptible nod of his head, Daniel motioned for York to continue.

"What would you like, sir" York questioned. "I have here tomato and cheddar, ham and mustard, smoked salmon and of course," York turned to the Admiral, "I have shredded chicken," he finished with a smirk.

Of the many flaws every man possesses, Admiral James Stuart's was his love for shredded chicken sandwiches. York, as is the wonderful nature of the staff at every respectable establishment, already knew about this particular thing; when Daniel had found out, he had insisted that the Admiral be served those sandwiches when he visited.

Daniel chose a flavourful mint tea to go with his sandwiches and a berry tart. The Admiral chose an Indian black tea blend from the selection to go with the shredded chicken sandwich. York looked over at the lounge where he had set the service and, happy with his work, he informed the guests.

Daniel refused to talk about the file over tea, choosing instead to ask about James' family and his plans for retirement.

"It has been over forty years of service," James stated. "I can't imagine sitting home and doing nothing, but I am not sure what I will end up doing. I still have a year until I must retire," he laughed.

"The Crown will help you in any way it can," Daniel assured. The conversation, however, slowly made its way back to the topic at hand.

"What happened to Voldemort?" Daniel asked.

"On the night of Halloween of eighty-one, it is said that the Dark Lord was killed when he tried to murder a family of three: the father was found dead in the living room, the mother in the bedroom upstairs lay sprawled in front of the crib where, surprisingly, the baby was alive.

"Nobody knows _why_ he chose to attack that particular family and neither do we know _how_ it is that the child survived; what we _do_ know is that he has been hailed as the hero who killed the Dark Lord."

"And do you believe that story?"

"The only thing he received was a scar on his head, a lightning bolt," the Admiral shrugged.

"Accidental magic?" Daniel questioned.

"They never found a body," the Admiral crisply replied. "They found a wand, Voldemort's wand, but they didn't find a body."

"And yet they are sure he is dead?" Daniel frowned. It was hard to establish murder, or death for that matter, without a body.

"I am not sure if he did actually die then," the Admiral mused.

"Did he choose to hide then? Why? After years of gaining strength, followers, influence and notoriety why throw it all away?"

"I can't really say," the Admiral replied. "All I know is this: as of yesterday evening, he is most certainly alive."

"So you're saying he died once in eighty-one and now in ninety-five he is alive again? Are you sure this isn't a long lost twin," Daniel laughed a little while his mind was working overtime to connect all things he knew.

If the man had been killed in eighty-one, he was certainly no threat to the king or the kingdom, which would explain why he was never informed about the threat. What it did not explain was why the existence of the Naval Command was kept a secret: the Admiral had been clear when he said he was ordered to not hand over the files; Daniel _was_ the king which meant the only other order even worth considering would have had to come from his mother, who was ruling as a reagent when he had been away.

Which led him to that which had been bugging him for the entirety of this meeting – why would his mother stop him from learning of this?

"I'm afraid not," the Admiral replied seriously. "With him dead in eighty-one, we waited some time before we ordered most of our men to get back here. The only assets still in place are in the ministry: and the ministry has yet to take a stand on this situation."

"Have they not been informed?" Daniel asked.

"They have: our asset in the ministry was present when the Minister for Magic was informed about Voldemort. That is included in the final report," he nodded to the file.

This was surprising for Daniel; a matter of national security needed no deliberation to take a stand against! Had this been a domestic issue, he would have taken all appropriate measures to keep his people safe. Then, the Royal House of Jäger would have hunted down every single one of the rapists and murderers.

Daniel knew that it would be a long time before Voldemort or his Death Eaters made their way to Wilhelmsberg: and even if they did, the wards around the island were unique and powerful – the people in the Navy would already be aware of them trying to enter before they even began trying to break through the wards.

Unless, they were allowed to apparate directly into Wilhelmsberg: if they were invited as guests, the wards would allow them to pass through.

"Why was Voldemort on threat watch?"

"Voldemort rose to power on the doctrine of pureblood supremacy and an anti-muggle agenda," the Admiral reiterated. "Wilhelmsberg is not free from its own share of bigots," he replied cryptically.

"And you think he is likely to find supporters in my kingdom?" Daniel asked. "Or has his influence already crossed the waters onto our shores?"

"It already had, sir. The Queen Reagent needed to check the bigotry before it grew into something worse."

"The fired chancellery!" Daniel realised. " _That_ is why they were fired?"

"The official reason was, of course, the lack of faith the Crown had in the chancellery –"

"And all those charges were true," Daniel said sceptically, "but they weren't the only ones, were they," he realised. Admiral Stuart nodded in acknowledgement.

"Voldemort was defeated; he was presumed dead for years before yesterday night, out of nowhere, he was alive again?" Daniel wondered.

"Sadly, we don't know anything about the entire incident; the only thing the boy said is that he was back."

"In that case tell me about this boy," he asked curiously. With information on Voldemort hard to come by, Daniel wanted to learn more about this boy, this child who had defeated the dark lord; on at least two occasions.

"I'm afraid there isn't much to tell about him either," the Admiral replied sadly.

"Nothing?" Daniel was surprised. "This boy rid an entire nation of a Dark Lord and they don't know anything about him?"

"They _do_ know a few things – and so do we," the Admiral smiled.

The meeting ended soon after, with the Admiral leaving Daniel with more questions than he had going into that meeting. He wanted some time to think about this matter in peace – this meeting with Admiral Stuart had raised a lot of questions regarding the choices made by several people, including his own mother. He wanted to put as much time as he could between her death and him questioning her choices – to him it was as if he was desecrating her memory.

~oOo~

 **28** **th** **June, 1995. Wednesday**

Harry lay in his bed in a room on the second floor at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, staring at the Black Family Arms on the ceiling above, surrounded by the numerous branches which formed the Black family tree.

This one was probably the most unfortunate branch of the family tree; he had seen the one in the study on the floor below and there had been several faces burned off of the tree. This one, Harry mused, probably had the most names burned off of any one branch.

Pollux Black, who was married to Irma Crabbe, had lost his brother Marius who was, as Harry learnt from the scribbling under the burnt face, a squib. Poor man Pollux had then lost one of his own sons, an _Alphard_ if he had read it correctly, before losing not one, but _two_ grandchildren.

A quick visit to the library and he had their names: one was, of course, his godfather Sirius Black and the other was a woman called Andromeda. Harry had decided to ask Sirius about the reasons why they were cast out: Alphard, Andromeda and Sirius. Harry smiled a little as he realised all three names could be found in the sky; Alphard was the brightest star in the constellation of Hydra, the largest constellation in the sky. Andromeda had the unique distinction of being a galaxy _and_ a constellation, while Sirius was borrowed from the name of the brightest star in the earth's night sky.

All named after great, heavenly objects – and yet unlucky.

Belatedly he realised Sirius was also referred to as the 'Dog Star' which was a wonderful coincidence, given his animagus form.

A knock on the door stopped him from pondering about those unfortunate souls who had been kicked out from their family, and he drifted to that unfortunate soul who had spent the last weekend trying to fight his parents' murder.

"Sirius," Harry greeted as he opened the door. Sirius was standing at the door carrying a bloodstained bag. Harry took a look at the bag, then questioningly at Sirius with a raised eyebrow.

"Good morning," he greeted happily, before following Harry's look. "I was feeding Buckbeak," Sirius added.

"Buckbeak?" Harry was surprised. "You've kept Buckbeak in the _house_?"

"Upstairs – in my mother's bedroom," Sirius said dismissively as he walked into the room. He noticed the open trunk at one corner of the room, and looked at Harry.

"I see you haven't unpacked," he pointed out.

Harry looked away before mumbling sheepishly, "Habit."

"Harry," Sirius said calmly. "Like I said on the platform that day – as long as you want to live here, nobody can stop you."

"Dumbledore will know I didn't go back there," Harry said, refusing to call that place 'home'.

"Dumbledore has no business deciding where you live," Sirius said firmly. " _I_ am your godfather." He walked to the trunk and tapped it with a wand; things glided up and away from the trunk into the wardrobe. "Let's get down for lunch," Sirius suggested.

Harry walked out of the room, taking in the surroundings for the first time. His room was on the second floor – Sirius lived on the floor above (with Buckbeak, it seemed). The first floor seemed pretty cramped, with doors everywhere – one of which was the library. He smiled as he paused to look at library door, before making his way down the old stairs.

"Hello, Kreacher!" Harry tried greeting the elf.

Kreacher stopped polishing the silverware, peering over the rather large, snout-like nose of his before muttering something under his breath.

"Kreacher did not hear Young Master enter," he mumbled. "Nasty blood-traitor that he is," he added loudly. Before Harry could say anything, Kreacher looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened, before turning another shade darker.

"The nasty blood-traitor arrives," he bowed with a flourish. "Broke the heart of my poor mistress when he ran away with the blood-traitors and that vile creature," he declared.

Sirius narrowed his eyes at the creature. "Go away Kreacher, your presence in this room is neither needed nor is it welcome," he said coldly. Gleeful at the thought of not having to serve a master he didn't like, Kreacher popped away from the kitchen as Sirius made his way to the table.

"He doesn't like you very much," remarked Harry as he sat in a chair.

"He doesn't like anyone who isn't a pureblood and doesn't serve the Dark Lord," Sirius corrected. "That creature has been in the family for as long as I can remember – and once it was clear to everyone that I wasn't about to follow the Dark Lord like almost every other person in my family had, I was just," Sirius shrugged sadly.

"Is that why you were burned from the tapestry?" Harry questioned.

"You've been to the room?" Sirius questioned.

"No," Harry lied, "I saw it on the ceiling of my room."

"I didn't know we had the tapestry on the ceilings in the room," Sirius wondered before it clicked. "Kreacher! That little scoundrel must have charmed your ceiling to look like the tapestry."

"What tapestry?" he asked innocently.

"The one in the room by the stairs," Sirius pointed in its direction. "You can't see it from here, but it's the first door on the right when you enter – the waiting area for guests."

"I wonder who decorated your house," Harry muttered as he realised the entire lineage of the family was on display to any visitor – even the names of the people who had been burned off it.

"I noticed you are cousins with Draco's mum," Harry observed to which Sirius snorted. "Not a mistake I made," Sirius laughed.

"Did Kreacher burn your face off of it?" he asked after a while.

"My mother did it," Sirius confessed. Harry looked horrified at that thought, but allowed Sirius to continue.

"I was never one to shy away from voicing my opinion – no wonder I got into Gryffindor," Sirius laughed. "My father had been made the head of the family by my grandfather, Arcturus, and I was expected to follow after him – as is the usual course of such responsibilities.

"Of course, when I declared I wouldn't be fighting with – _for_ – the Dark Lord, my mother lost it. She tried everything she could to make me change my decision, but by the end of _my_ fourth year I had pretty much made it clear that there was no way in hell I would ever join their side of the war.

"That was when she burned my name off of that tapestry, said I was a disgrace to the House of Black and that I was never to set a foot in this place until she was alive."

Harry had been listening intently, trying to understand the life of his godfather – the only person he considered 'family'.

"What did you do then?" Harry asked.

"Well, she planned for me to get marked that year; there is no way out but death once you're marked – and when I refused, they ganged up on me before dropping me off on the street in front of St Mungo's. The healers took me in when they noticed, but I had been so badly disfigured all they _could_ say for certain was that I was still at Hogwarts."

Harry looked sick at that. He had been beaten before – but he had never been beaten so badly to be disfigured beyond recognition. Magic could be the most evil tool when one wanted it to be, he concluded.

Sirius summoned a bottle of Firewhisky and two glasses.

"Is it even legal for me to drink this?" Harry asked as he picked up the glass Sirius had made.

"Harry," Sirius began. "It is perfectly legal to drink if you're older than five and at home."

"Are you sure about that?" Harry asked sceptically.

"I'm Sirius!" he grinned. "You could have at least smiled at that," Sirius mumbled when Harry continued to look at him, not amused. Harry nodded before taking a sip of the drink.

"What happened then?" asked Harry, choosing to reserve judgement on Firewhiskey.

"I was taken into the hospital but, like I said, they couldn't identify my. One of the healers on call had a child in Hogwarts so they called her – took a while for her to be sure, but she recognised me alright.

"My father refused any relation with me – said I had been disowned for being a disgrace to the House of Black and that I was no longer his responsibility." Sirius sipped his drink as old wounds long since forgotten were being reopened.

Sirius knew Harry had had his share of abuse as a child, and the only way he thought Harry might be comfortable talking about it was if he knew he wasn't the only enough – it wasn't something to be ashamed of. Sirius looked at his godson who seemed to be thinking about something.

"I don't like talking about my childhood," Harry said after a while. "I just," he waved his hand trying to convey his emotions. "I've never really had anybody to talk to."

Sirius nodded, understanding what Harry was saying. He had three really close friends and yet he hadn't ever spoken about the abuse he faced to any of them – the topic had always been avoided expertly whenever it came up.

"What about your friends?" Sirius pushed on. "Hermione and the Weasley boy, Ron?" he asked.

"I don't know, Sirius," he looked at him. "I don't think they will ever really understand what I've been through."

"Harry, you can trust me with anything you wish to get off your shoulders."

Clearly uncomfortable talking about his life with the Dursley's, Harry nodded.

"I'm not asking you to tell me everything right now," Sirius decided to take small, slow steps and stop prodding. "I just want you to know that should you ever feel like it, you can tell me anything you want," he finished with a supportive smile.

"What happened to you, then?" Harry questioned.

"I found a girlfriend," Sirius replied succinctly. Harry looked surprised, his mouth forming an 'o'.

"At least something good came out of that evening," Sirius shrugged, looking at the glass half full.

"What happened to her?" Harry questioned. "Did you meet her after -" he gestured trying to avoid saying ' _Azkaban_.'

"No – they killed her a few days before your first birthday," he said softly.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologised. Both men gulped the remainder of their drinks, Sirius pouring himself another glass before downing that one too.

"Her name was Marlene," Sirius said. "And she was the most beautiful person I had ever had the pleasure of meeting."

~oOo~

 **28** **th** **June,** **1995\. Wednesday**

The office of the headmaster was located in one of the highest towers of the castle.

Minerva McGonagall was seated beside Kingsley Shacklebolt in front of the headmaster's desk while Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody was standing behind them. From his perch by the study, Fawkes looked at the guests of Albus Dumbledore, as they waited for Albus to return from the pensieve.

"Thank you for waiting," Albus said as he came out of the pensieve. "It seems I had lost track of time in there," he smiled.

"What is this about, Albus?" Minerva questioned as the old wizard made his way to his chair.

"Lemon drops?" Albus offered. Minerva narrowed her eyes before shaking her head – she had never understood the headmaster's love for the muggle candy. Kingsley Shacklebolt also shook his head at the offer.

"I'll have one of them," Alastor Moody reached for the muggle candy. "I will never understand your love for these," he muttered as he popped the candy into his mouth.

"The tragic loss of Cedric Diggory in the Third Task led me to view the memory of that evening," he pointed at the pensieve. "The Ministry of Magic has already called the death an accident, attributing it to the Third Task of the Tournament – the tournament isn't unknown to the loss of life of its competitors. This, however, wasn't an accident."

"He's back, isn't he?" Moody questioned gruffly. Shacklebolt turned around to look at Moody, before turning questioningly toward Albus.

"That can't be true, Dumbledore," Shacklebolt looked horrified.

"As much as I would like to deny it, I'm afraid Alastor is right," Dumbledore said. "That evening, when Harry returned back at the starting point, Harry had witnessed the rebirth of Lord Voldemort."

Shacklebolt looked disturbed at the thought of having to fight the Dark Lord once more, but he didn't show it.

"Why haven't the Aurors been informed?" he questioned.

"Cornelius was there that evening, when Harry returned – alas, Cornelius does not listen to me now."

"Albus, it's been a few days since the evening of the task –" Minerva began.

"And you're wondering why he hasn't begun his killing spree yet?" Mad-Eye cut in. "If I'm to guess, I'd say he is layin' low, biding his time."

"The ministry has chosen to ignore the rise of Lord Voldemort. I believe this fight with young Harry has left him startled – Voldemort, if anything, would never expect to be met blow-for-blow by any wizard, let alone a boy," Dumbledore voiced his opinion.

"You cannot be serious – the boy fought the Dark Lord?" Shacklebolt was surprised.

"He's done it before," McGonagall spoke before Dumbledore could say anything. Shacklebolt turned to look at the professor disbelievingly while Alastor looked interested to hear more. Minerva McGonagall seemed keen to defend the abilities of her lion.

"In the first year, he fought the wraith of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named – Dumbledore set a trap in the school trying which Mr. Potter went through to defend an important magical artefact from the wraith."

"I like the lad," Alastor said. "If he fought Voldemort when he was eleven, I can't wait to see what he can do now," he grinned.

"The boy must not be the focus of our efforts against Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore declared. "However capable he is," Albus continued before Moody could voice an objection, "Harry Potter is a child – admittedly a very ingenious and resourceful one –but only a child."

"I agree," Minerva voiced her opinion. "This is not his fight; nor is it the fight of all the students at Hogwarts, Albus," she said, concerned.

"I do not fear for the safety of the students when they are _in_ the castle – not even Lord Voldemort would try to break through the ancient wards and defences of Hogwarts. No, I believe the children will be safe as long as they are in the castle."

"You don't know when he will attack," Alastor observed.

"Indeed," Albus nodded sadly. "That is my greatest concern – Voldemort is preparing for something; something big. Cornelius has chosen to not take my advice – which means when Voldemort does strike, the Ministry of Magic will be incapable of doing anything to stop him."

"I can try talking to Madam Bones," Shacklebolt suggested.

"Aurors were never soldiers," Moody cut in. "We need Hit-Wizards – of which there are none," the disgust in his voice was clear to all those present. Hit-Wizards were an elite force of the Auror Corps, a specialised branch equivalent to a muggle anti-terrorism unit. The Death Eaters were exactly that – terrorists who would kill you if you didn't kill them first.

"I agree – but that is hardly possible to sanction without raising concern," Dumbledore pointed out. After the war had ended, the Hit-Wizard program had been scrapped and the personnel absorbed into the Auror Corps.

"What are you planning, Albus?" Minerva asked. She had been silently observing the headmaster all this while, trying to guess where this conversation was leading to.

"I'm in," Moody banged his staff on the ground as he realised why Albus had called this meeting.

"I don't understand," she looked from Albus to Alastor.

"I knew I could count on you," Albus smiled. Kingsley Shacklebolt also declared his support.

"Albus!" Minerva said, the exasperation finally getting through to the headmaster who seemed very happy at the result of the meeting.

With twinkling eyes he looked at his deputy before declaring, "The Order of the Phoenix must reconvene." Fawkes looked at Dumbledore and they held a silent conversation the likes of which is possible only between a wizard and his familiar.

The melody of the Phoenix Song filled the room before Fawkes rose from his perch and flew out of the window, soaring above the castle – spreading the warmth of the Song over the castle and the grounds.

A bottle of brandy was brought out from the cabinet as Albus poured them a glass each. The Order of the Phoenix had been invaluable in the first war – and it seems would play a very important role in this one too.

"This is hardly something to drink to," Minerva looked weirdly at the glass.

"This is war," Moody retorted. "Celebrate whatever occasion you can – whenever you can. You may not be alive 'til the end of the war," he finished gloomily. She looked at Moody, clearly uncomfortable at that thought; she picked up the glass and emptied the contents.

Albus was hardly one to be happy about war – he had seen too much of it already.

In the first war, the Order had managed to save several lives; they had stopped the muggle killing sprees and the attacks on magical hamlets, they had fought the Death Eaters whenever they could and although they had suffered losses themselves, no member had ever backed down from helping in whichever way they could.

 _Sacrifice is the path which leads to the Greater Good._

Indeed, but sacrifice was something Dumbledore was trying his best to avoid – especially if what the prophecy were to come true. He called on Fawkes to send a note to Sirius. Grimmauld Place would serve as a wonderful location for the headquarters – it was unplottable and the ward scheme would rival most other properties in Britain.

The songbird took flight and Albus watched the beautiful creature soar over the grounds as he sipped on his brandy. McGonagall had been observing Fawkes, and she rose from her seat to follow the flight of the incredibly rare magical bird.

The celebration, however, was short-lived. A mechanical whirring wiped the smile off of his face as he made his way over to the source of the noise – the silver equipment monitoring the wards around Number 4, Privet Drive.

"What is that noise, Albus?" Minerva enquired.

"Harry Potter is missing!"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Sorry this chapter took me a while to update, but I have been trying to edit, write and manage the story and my finals. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Can't wait to read your reviews :)


	3. Chapter 3: Interim

**Disclaimer:** I make no sort of monetary gains from writing and/or publishing this story, and I write only for the satisfaction it gives me to see it published (and when it is read and liked!). My sincere thanks to the wonderful JK Rowling, who allows people like me to use her universe as a sandbox to try and create something... _magical_.

 **Authors Note:** It took me a long time to write this chapter, but here it is, the third chapter of my story. I really hope you enjoy this chapter! The chapter has a non-linear narrative, something I plan to use in the future, albeit only when necessary.

Warning: The last part of the chapter (under the date '30th June') contains violence, and is marked with this warning:

/Warning: Violence. Reader discretion advised/

That part of the story under the warning may be skipped without affecting the continuity of the story, but it offers a look into the villainous mind of the Dark Lord.

* * *

 _ **Chapter 3**_

 **29th June 1995. Thursday**

Diana nodded at the chancellor as he walked out of the office of the monarch, before entering the office herself.

"You look exhausted," she observed.

"What time is it?" he asked. ' _Quarter past six'_ , she said. "Well, I've been talking to Chancellor Becker since – ten – I think, so, yeah – I'm exhausted."

"I didn't expect the meeting to go on for so long," said Diana as she handed him a bottle of water from the refrigerator at the bar.

"I haven't met him since we left for Nuremberg," Daniel reminded. "There was a lot he wanted to talk to me about."

"Planning for re-election already?" Diana smirked. "He still has half a year, doesn't he?"

"A little over than that, and no – I just think he takes his job pretty seriously," Daniel waved his hand over his desk and everything began to fly back to its place.

"You do it on purpose, don't you?" Diana frowned. "You _know_ I find that very annoying."

"Then it serves its purpose," Daniel stuck his tongue out.

"What are you, five?" she mocked.

"No – I'm twenty. I'm offended you don't know how old your king is," he said royally.

"Yeap, five," Diana shook her head. "It's almost six thirty," she reminded.

Daniel sighed. "I said I would meet them today, didn't I?" he asked. Diana nodded in reply. "They know why I couldn't spend more time with them, don't they?"

"I let them know that your kingdom would always be your first priority," Diana replied promptly. "I'm sure they understand." Daniel smiled at Diana in thanks for having handled that for him.

"Where are they?" he asked as he got up.

"I think the elves have arranged for snacks and coffee in the gardens."

Of the three gardens at the palace, the North Garden was the largest; it was the private garden of the monarch and one of the most beautiful gardens one might _never_ be able to visit. To the west of the West Wing was another garden, made for the people working in the Offices of the Crown. The third garden greeted everybody as they made their way to the palace – the Stepped Gardens which flanked the road from the gates of the palace in the valley below, to the Palace itself.

"Then we should leave," he said as he checked his watch.

"You want me to come with you?" Diana asked, surprised. She had spent time with Sarah, but otherwise hadn't really had time to get familiar with the others: Diana had spent an afternoon with them; she had shown them around the palace and then accompanied them for dinner to a restaurant in the capital below, and that was about it. Sarah had apologised for her 'muggle' remark and they had quickly developed a friendship. Bradley, the only other muggle in the group, seemed to get along fine with her – and so did his sister. Jordan was the only person who she wasn't meeting for the first time.

Daniel turned around to look at her, "Why wouldn't I want you there?" he shrugged. "Come on," he waved before turning around and walking out of his room.

Jordan had arrived at Wilhelmsberg along with Daniel when he had returned; ever since then, he had always accompanied Daniel when he left the Palace: Diana had come to recognise Jordan as the first line of defence. Naturally, that meant Diana had a lot of time to interact with Jordan and they had formed a working relationship. The day the Queen had been taken to the Hall of Eternal Flame was the first day she had seen Jordan relaxed. Although it was something he hid quickly, Diana had noticed; she believed the company of his friends allowed him to relax a little.

"So, you were going to tell me about magic," Diana began as they crossed the courtyard and walked toward the North Wing, referring to what he had said at the Hall of the Eternal Flame.

Diana nearly bumped into him as Dan stopped walking. "Yes, I said I would tell you, didn't I," he sighed. He had been so busy the following days that he didn't have time to talk about this with Diana.

"If now is not a good time –" Diana began, but Dan cut her off with a shake of his head.

"Come," he said as he began walking toward the only tree in the courtyard. "You can see this tree, right? What tree is it?" he asked.

She looked at him quizzically, but answered nonetheless. "It's a walnut tree," she said.

"It's a _black_ walnut tree," he corrected. "It's a tree species native to America," he added. "Now take a look at this," he said as he held his wand in front of it.

"They look similar," she pointed between the wand and the tree. "Possibly the same tree," she guessed. Dan nodded; his wand was, indeed, made of the very tree he was standing in front of.

"So, this wand is made from the wood of that tree; and you agree that the black walnut – that _this_ tree – is not a magical tree?" he asked. When Diana nodded, Dan gestured for them to continue their walk, as he continued his explanation.

"Now, think about this: if a non-magical thing," he said as he held up his wand, "can do magic, what is stopping another non-magical thing, say – you – from doing magic?"

Diana looked surprised at that question; she had never thought about it. When she began thinking about it, a thought struck her:

"Don't wands have a magical core?" she asked.

"Traditionally, yes, wands contain a magical core – typically a small piece of a magical being – but that's not the answer," he nodded. "You don't really need the cores," he said as he broke off a wand-sized piece from the tip of a branch of a tree by the Walk, to demonstrate what he meant.

"Look there," he said as he pointed to the Guard's Walk which went around the North Garden. Using the wooden branch he levitated a stone from the side of the road and placed it in the middle of the road. He then transfigured the stone into a rabbit, then a small stool, before transfiguring it into a butterfly, which he allowed to fly away.

"How did you do that?" Diana asked, shocked.

"That," Dan pointed in the direction of the butterfly, "is what Magick really is."

"Think of it as energy, something that is present all around you, something that is present in the very air you breathe, in the water you swim in, even the earth you walk on! Magick is a celestial force, as old as Nature herself – there has never been nature without Magick," Daniel explained.

"Is that why you said the wands don't need cores?" she asked.

"Partially; the wands themselves don't _create_ the magic you see," he said. "The cores help focus the Magick being channelled through the wand."

"So if the magic you do is not the magic from the wand, and the wand wood is from a if non-magical tree – and magic is a force that is present all around us – are you saying that it is actually _you_ who is creating this magic?" she guessed.

Daniel thought about her answer for a while before shaking his head. Magick was a difficult concept to explain in such a small amount of time – he decided to give her an example that he had found most useful.

"Do you know why the leaves are green?" he asked.

"Chlorophyll, the pigment which imparts colour to the leaves," she nodded.

"Exactly," Dan said. "Do you know what that pigment does?"

"It makes food for the plants," she shrugged, wondering how something she had learnt as a child would help her understand the concept of Magick.

"Not food exactly," Dan smiled, "But close enough: chlorophyll converts the light energy from the sun to another form of energy – chemical energy – which it can then use for whatever activities it needs.

"Moving on, you receive the same sunlight which that tree does," he pointed out. "Why, then, do you not produce your own ' _food_ ' like the tree does?"

"Because I don't have chlorophyll," she replied and Daniel gave her a meaningful look. "Oh," she said as his meaning dawned on her.

"Exactly: the reason why I can wave a stick and do magic has got nothing to do with the size or the shape of the stick I hold – what is most important is that I possess the " _chlorophyll_ "," he said as he made the air quotes with his hands, "which allows me to harness the Magick present all around me."

"So _that_ is why I can't do magic?" she said disbelievingly. " _Chlorophyll?_ ," she spat in disgust.

"It is just something you are born with, Diana – you cannot really give somebody the ability to perform magic. You either have it or you don't."

"I wish I could wave your wand and clear my desk," she grumbled as they neared the table.

"Even if you _could_ perform magic, you would never be able to use my wand," he smirked.

"What?" she frowned, "Why not?" she questioned.

He stopped walking and edged close to her; "That is for me to know and _you_ to find out," he laughed, before moving out of her reach as she tried to swat him in the arm.

~oOo~

 **28th June, 1995. Wednesday**

"The place is empty, Albus," Arabella Figg said as she stood in the doorway. She moved aside to let them walk in. Dumbledore, McGonagall and Moody walked into the room, as Arabella asked, "Would you like some tea?"

"Not now," Moody shot down the offer. "We're here to look for Harry Potter – it is important that we speak with him."

"A spot of tea will not hurt, Alastor," Dumbledore stepped in. "Fawkes is already trying to find Harry and until Kingsley is back from King's Cross, we can do nothing but wait."

He turned to face Arabella, "I would love some tea; and I'm sure they would appreciate a cup themselves." With that he effectively dismissed Mrs. Figg from her own living room, as the three of them sat on the couch, Moody trying his best to swat away the cats.

"This place is infested with cats," Moody complained. "And Kneazles – damn intelligent creatures but very, very nasty. Shoo!" he thumped his staff on the floor, trying to get him off of him. It looked though, that the cats – and the Kneazles – liked the ex-auror.

Dumbledore smiled as he watched his old friend struggle to rid himself from the 'cat-infestation'. Using magic in a muggle area might catch the attention of the Ministry so Moody had been trying his best to get the animals off of him.

His struggles had even managed to make McGonagall forget her outrage at Dumbledore for having decided to have tea, instead of searching for Mr. Potter – so much so that even McGonagall was smiling.

"You find it amusing, do you?" he grumbled as he realised his companions were enjoying his predicament. "If only I could make them pester you guys instead of me."

"Have you seen Harry since he returned from Hogwarts?" Dumbledore asked as Mrs. Figg served them tea. Moody would have loved to be the one doing the questioning, but he was too busy cleaning his clothes of cat hair – the damned creatures had flocked to Mrs. Figg when she had arrived, affording Moody some respite.

"Harry?" she shook her head. "I believe the Dursley's are off to visit little Dudley's Aunt Marge," she recollected. "I think the Dursley's had planned to pick young Harry up at the station on the way there."

This revelation calmed the three visitors. Dumbledore was immensely relieved – not only did that mean Harry Potter was safe; it also meant that the instruments and wards monitoring Number 4 were working properly. Since Harry had never made it to his aunt's house the instruments had correctly reported him missing.

Dumbledore thought about his familiar, Fawkes, and he told him know about this latest development. One of the more elusive of magical creatures, phoenixes are strong willed, independent and extremely intelligent – one of the few animals who can communicate through a familiar bond.

McGonagall, on the other hand, needed to see her cub to believe he was safe. "Where does this aunt live?" she questioned.

"In Norwich," she informed. "I have an address somewhere," she scratched her head as she thought about it before beginning to open the drawers of the cabinets, trying to find that address. McGonagall made a face as she looked at the state of each drawer and the mess she made.

"I'm sure I had it somewhere, I just can't seem to find it," said Mrs. Figg sadly.

"Is it any wonder?" McGonagall muttered – the commotion created by Albus as he got up preventing Mrs. Figg from catching the complete sentence.

"Kingsley is here; I will be back shortly," Albus said cheerfully before making his way out of the room.

"We should wait outside too," said Moody, wanting nothing more than to move away from this 'cat-infested' place. Minerva nodded at that suggestion; anything to save her from having to look at the mess in the house.

"I hope you find them soon," Mrs. Figg said as they made their way to the door.

"Yes, I hope so too," McGonagall replied curtly, before continuing on her way out.

"She doesn't like him, you know?" Mrs. Figg whispered as they were at the door. Unfortunately for Mrs. Figg, years of teaching had trained the ears of McGonagall to pick up even the faintest of whispers; while Moody's dictum of 'constant vigilance' meant that he picked that up too.

"What do you mean?" McGonagall questioned. Not anticipating that she could have been heard, Mrs. Figg now was spluttering for an answer.

"Well, there was that incident in the summer before his third year at Hogwarts," she pointed out.

"What incident?" McGonagall questioned. Had Arabella been talking about the summer before his second year, she would've brushed it off as the entire incident with the flying car. But ' _third year_ ' caught her attention.

"Didn't Dumbledore tell you about it?" Arabella Figg looked oddly excited, possibly at the prospect of having an audience – she had so much gossip to share and so few people who she could share it with. "What happened in the summer before Mr. Potter started his third year, Albus?" McGonagall launched herself out of the house and onto the street, demanding an answer from the old man.

Albus, who had been engrossed in a discussion with Kingsley, was surprised when he heard his deputy come at him, demanding answers. Dumbledore had spoken with Cornelius before the latter had met Harry at the Leaky Cauldron. They had agreed that an incident of accidental magic ought not to be punished – and Cornelius had tried to use the opportunity to ingratiate himself with the saviour of the wizarding world.

"I believe it was a minor case of accidental magic, Minerva. Nothing uncommon in children," he said calmly. "Perhaps Mr. Potter would be the best person to talk to you about it?"

"Yes; once we find him, I will surely be talking to Mr. Potter about that incident," Minerva agreed. "Are we to apparate to Norwich?" she asked.

"We might have a problem," Kingsley cut in. "I received a message from the Auror Office; I am to wait here until Madam Bones arrives."

"Amelia is on her way here?" Dumbledore sounded surprised.

"She's here already," Moody corrected. "In that park," he pointed to his right, his magical eye allowing him to see in the night better than anybody else.

"Senior Auror Shacklebolt," her voice had an edge to it as she addressed the only person of the group working in her department – and thus, required to follow her order. "You will be explaining to me why I received three independent flags of unauthorised muggle enquiry," she said matter-of-factly, before turning to address the others.

"I have an idea what you are doing here," she said looking at Albus and Minerva, "so I will warn you to not use magic or cause any disturbance in this area – and maybe try sending an owl before you risk waking up an entire street just to check up on a boy."

That she knew where Harry Potter lived was a shock to Albus. He had been planning to try and convince Amelia to let Kingsley off the hook for unauthorised muggle enquiry – now he was trying to work out how the head of the DMLE knew where Harry Potter lived. If this was made public knowledge, it wouldn't take long for news to reach the Dark Lord.

"Amelia," said Moody as he moved toward her. "You brought along seven people, yes?" he confirmed. When she nodded, he continued, "I don't know _how_ you know what you do but I will tell you this: the Dark Lord is back and Albus is sure that we have only one way of stopping him." He jerked his head to his left and she followed him away from the group.

"The boy?" she sounded genuinely surprised. When Alastor nodded, she cast a privacy charm around them before continuing.

"What do you mean they boy is the only way of stopping him?"

"He's done it once before and he could do it again," Moody pointed out, unsure of the exact reason why Albus was so sure about it.

"He was a child then, Alastor!" Amelia protested.

"Yes," Moody agreed. "Hell, that lad's already had more than his share of troubles – that doesn't mean Voldemort won't come after him."

"He did what nobody thought was even possible," Amelia realised. "Lord Voldemort doesn't like to be defied," said Amelia bitterly – she had learned of that the night her brother had been hunted, over a decade ago.

"You know that better than anybody else Amy," Moody soothed. "Which is why it is necessary that we find the kid," he rationalised.

"You cannot send the kid to fight the Dark Lord," still horrified at that thought.

"Of course not – it needs to be the Aurors and the Hit-Wizards who do the fighting," Moody agreed. "But they need a banner to rally under and Albus cannot be that anymore," he finished before she could suggest Dumbledore's name.

"Dumbledore can still take on an entire group of Death Eaters alone, but that will not be enough," Moody continued. "There was a time when Dumbledore could match the Dark Lord blow-for-blow; I have seen him do it myself: now, even Albus isn't sure he can do that anymore.

"Dumbledore has already faced his own demons – this should not be his burden to bear," Moody said cryptically.

"So you are proposing we fight a war led by a boy under the guidance of an ageing man against an enemy who just doesn't seem to die?" Amelia questioned, realising with every word she said how utterly ridiculous it sounded. "Not to mention the fact that the number of Aurors I have right now is barely sufficient to take on his Death Eaters – and that the Hit-Wizard program has been scrapped."

"I can point out least seven Hit-Wizards right now," he smirked as Amelia looked surprised. "Hit-Wizards are the only people issued with two wands."

"That damned eye of yours," she grumbled petulantly.

"Didn't hear you grumbling when it saved your life," he shot back with a grin.

"Nobody is supposed to know."

"I'm not telling anybody – although I am sure Albus will have figured it out by now."

Indeed, it looked like Albus recognised some of the Hit-Wizards, which wasn't surprising considering Dumbledore had taught several generations of wizards. "What was Shacklebolt doing questioning the muggles?" asked Amelia as she turned around to face Moody.

"Trying to find the boy – he hadn't returned home from the Express and we needed to know if he had, perhaps, fallen into the wrong hands."

"And if he had?" she continued her questions.

"We would have tried our best to find him," he stated.

"Who is _we_?" Amelia asked suspiciously.

"The Order of the Phoenix," he replied. "The Order fought in the last war against Voldemort and we will do it again."

"Just how were you planning on doing that?" she asked sceptically.

"Like we did in the first war," Moody shot back.

"So you think there is going to be another war?" she asked.

"There is no other way this can end – and Albus is certain it has to be the boy."

Amelia scoffed at that. "You're talking about allowing a boy to face the Dark Lord," she said.

"No – although I've heard rumours saying he has already done it twice since that Halloween," Moody shook his head. "No, I'm talking about allowing the Hit-Wizards facing the Dark Lord, just like I said. The boy may be allowed on the field and in battle – but only if he makes that choice himself."

"You want to know if my department can help you," Amelia realised.

"I want to know if _you_ can help us," he corrected. "The department as a whole cannot be trusted – Albus is certain that Voldemort has people working for him at the ministry – across various departments."

"And how will I alone be of help?"

"You know your Aurors – I want you to help me find those who can be trusted – and I want to know how many Hit-Wizards you are still in contact with."

Amelia absorbed Moody's requests. "I will have to think about it."

"Good," Moody said. "Looking forward to seeing you at the next meeting," Moody smirked as he pulled down the wards and began walking toward the group.

"I didn't say yes," Amelia said.

"You will," he stated simply. Alastor had taught Amelia as a recruit and had worked with her in the field. He was sure she would agree.

"What happened, Alastor?" McGonagall asked as he joined the group.

"Nothing," he said, not wanting to talk about their meeting here. "We need to leave for Norwich now."

Albus looked between Alastor and Amelia, smiling at the latter when he noticed her face: she was thinking about something and he thought he had a pretty good idea what they had been talking about. Things were taking a turn for the better and Albus couldn't be any happier.

~oOo~

 **29th June 1995. Thursday**

As the evening had progressed, scones and sandwiches had made way for cheese, chocolates and nuts among other things; with tea and coffee replaced by a selection of fine whiskies, a change on the food menu was inevitable.

Holding their third glass in their hands, Diana and Sarah had wandered away from the table, taking the Guard's Walk around the garden instead. Built along the cliff, the Guard's Walk provided a safe path for the guards as they patrolled the palace grounds in the dark, when the grassy expanses between the Walk and the cliffs became incredibly slippery. When the North Garden had been created, the Walk too had undergone some changes to make it more aesthetically pleasing. The path had grown in width, and the roads had been paved with cobblestones, while the trees on either side of the path provided some shade. The Walk had changed purpose to now becoming a leisure path for the Crown and its guests.

"How did you guys meet?" Sarah wondered as they ambled along the cobbled path.

Diana stopped to think about it. She had never had to explain that before.

"Well, the short version is basically that I met him at a student event and we got talking and," she shrugged her shoulders.

Sarah believed there was a lot more to this story than she was letting on. She eyed Diana suspiciously. "And the longer version?" she asked finally.

After the incident where Sarah had found out that she was a muggle – and pointed it out rather tactlessly, she had apologised to Diana. That had shown a new side of usually snappy woman and the two of them had formed an unusual relationship, unusually quickly. If it had been anybody other than Sarah asking, Diana might not have been as forthcoming as she was right now.

"I was studying law here at Wilhelmsberg and I had gone to Munich for a semester. I had been working part time there with a management firm who were managing an event called ' _The Global Student Conclave_ '. The 'Conclave' was basically a platform for students to meet various important professional figures and several universities had been invited to send panels of students to the event, with various forums to choose from.

"Daniel was visiting the _Conclave_ as a guest of the Chancellor of Germany; I don't know if he asked to join in or if the organisers asked him to, but he ended up speaking for almost two hours on this topic about monarchies and their historical importance," she paused to take a sip of her drink. "That turned out to become one of the highlights of the entire event."

"He always loved history," Sarah agreed. "Even at the Lodge, he spent a lot of his free time reading."

"Not only history," Diana corrected. "Although I must say, there aren't many topics he speaks about as passionately as he does about history." The Walk took a turn away from the cliff, as the road moved further west around the garden.

"So, what happened then?"

"Well, after he was done with his talk, he offered to answer a few questions from the students. Well, I wanted to ask him some questions too, but I didn't get a chance to do that then. So I followed him as he came off the podium and asked him my question right after I offered him some water," she finished with a sly smile.

"Wait that's it?" Sarah questioned disbelievingly and a tad bit disappointed.

"Well mostly," Diana shrugged. When Sarah continued staring at her disbelievingly, she reluctantly continued.

 _"Would you like some water, Your Majesty?" Diana asked, having managed to wriggle her way through the crowd and into the inner circle._

 _"Yes please," he sounded relieved as she handed him some water. Growing up, she had always hoped to be able to meet the king; actually meeting him for the first time was surreal._

 _She just stared as he drank water, wondering if it was right to exploit this opportunity; she decided to make use of the window she had created. "If it's not too much trouble, I have a question to ask – on your session," she ended up saying._

 _Daniel had been about to say something to the German Chancellor when he turned around to look at her. "Go on," he nodded. She observed a hint of a smile gracing his face, almost as if knew this was coming, but ploughed on._

 _"Right, so," she fumbled a little before taking a deep breath and exhaling loudly._ He is just another man _she kept telling herself trying her best to not be overwhelmed by everything - especially the large number of eyes on her, waiting to hear her speak._

 _"What are your views on this trend away from monarchies, especially in this century? D_ _o you believe the transition from monarchies to a largely democratic system is for the better or for the worse – and how would it affect existing monarchies if that were to be the case in their kingdom?"_

 _"That's a loaded question," he laughed. She smiled awkwardly, not sure if it was meant as a compliment or not._

 _"To answer your question, I believe it is a case-specific study: there have been times when the monarchs have been nothing more than ceremonial heads and left the governance of their kingdom to his ministers – in such cases, the people might as well do away with the monarch," he said._ _"You see, it is a very expensive affair to be a king – not that we cannot afford it – but sometimes it is the people living in the kingdom who pay for their royal lifestyle. Imagine if all that money had been funnelled back into the economy rather than being spent by one family alone: and that is just one of the reasons I believe that a monarch who doesn't actively take part in governing his kingdom is replaced with a better system._

 _"And if that is not the case, and the monarch does takes active control of the state and genuinely cares about the welfare of his state and the welfare of his subjects, I believe it is safe to say that such monarchies are probably the best forms of government."_

 _"A monarch is seldom subject to any law – what happens when a monarch who doesn't take active interest in the affairs of his kingdom – an idle monarch, if you will – abuses power?"_

 _"The welfare of the kingdom will then be the responsibility of the ministers: the outcome now depends on the ministers and their character. As for the monarchs being above the law; well, historically, claims to the throne have almost always been made by claiming divine will," Daniel began. "If the king is compared with a god – and acting on the orders of the god – it provides an easy avenue for them to be exempt from all laws."_

 _"If they are working for the gods,_ who _on earth is worthy of judging them," Diana realised._

 _"Indeed," he seemed impressed._

 _"What about instances of serious offences?" she countered. "Having no accountability is as good as giving them the licence to basically do anything they want: there have been rulers who have killed and tortured just for fun."_

 _"Those are times when people in power have abused the power they had – it is important to remember that tyranny is not a curse of the crown alone," he stated. "A tyrant has no accountability whatsoever – even when there is an existing system of law which can, and should, charge him for the crimes committed."_

 _Diana absorbed the gentle reprimand in his words: a tyrant doesn't need to be born into an influential family to end up as a tyrant._

 _"As for your second question," he began when a man walked up to him and whispered something in his ears. Diana realised belatedly that they had veered_ way _off topic._ _Daniel quickly spoke with the Chancellor in German and with a quick shake of hands, the chancellor left. He nodded at the man before turning to talk to her again._

 _"What did you say your name was?" he asked and she realised she hadn't introduced herself. With a sheepish smile, she told him her name._

 _"Diana – goddess of the hunt," he smiled. "Walk with me?" he asked as he nudged his head toward an exit door which she would swear had not been there before._

 _"Wilhelmsberg is a state ruled completely by the monarch," Daniel addressed her. They had walked out of the building and out into the sun. As he spoke about the organisation of his government, something Diana already knew about, she took some time to look at her king: Daniel had been crowned as the monarch just after his sixth birthday, a responsibility that had fallen on his shoulders after the untimely demise of his father in a hunting accident._

 _His hair were an unnatural shade of black, a very dark ominous black which fluttered occasionally as gusts of wind graced their walk in the sun, she noticed. Under the equally black eyebrows were grey eyes which constantly scanned everything around them like a sentry. His walk was paced uniquely between an amble and a brisk walk – smiling at her occasionally between his explanations, possibly to check if she was listening_ _– or if she had any doubts. People all around them stared at them; occasionally, Daniel returned a polite smile, even to those who were pointing, gawking at them as they realised who he was_ _–_ _making Diana very conscious of herself._

 _"When the monarchy is working flawlessly, it is not only unnecessary, but also unwise to warrant extra expenditure and infrastructure for a democratic sub-system which worked in the Crown's stead, essentially doing what the king should be doing anyway," he said, nodding to somebody in the crowd._

 _"What does the Chancellor do then?" she questioned._

 _"Ahh, the chancellor was a clever move by my ancestors," he conceded. "The post of Chancellor was created by the Crown quite some time ago."_

 _"So, is the Chancellor the_ de facto _head of government?_ " _Diana questioned. "Something like the system we have here?"_

 _"It seems like that but there is one small, but important difference: if it were like the other systems, the post of chancellor would be the one making the decisions, with the crown just signing off on them – the king becomes a mere ceremonial post. In such a system, over time, people will begin to question the necessity of the king himself._

 _"The Chancellor of Wilhelmsberg is not an official post in the government," he said. "The chancellor is elected by the people as a_ consultant _to the ministers. Although they must report to the Chancellor, they are not required to follow the suggestions of the chancellor and as such work only for the Crown," he finished with a smug smile._

 _Diana used the silence following his declaration to understand what he had said. The people elected the chancellor as their representative: the chancellor worked as the voice of the people but he didn't really have any power other than to make suggestions; ensuring that the king would get his way in the end. Her faith in the Chancellery was on the verge of plummeting._

 _"The people have been extremely happy with the introduction of the post, it is their way of knowing that their opinions matter," Daniel continued. "That move is the reason why I am sure that monarchy at Wilhelmsberg is not under threat of being converted."_

 _"A very cunning move," she appreciated. "Is it not unfair to the citizens who trust the chancellor?"_

 _"Just because I am not forced to follow the advice I am given, doesn't mean that I never follow the advice I am given; especially if it is sound advice," he offered._

 _"So the advice and suggestions of the chancellor are usually implemented?" she questioned._

 _"Yes," Daniel shrugged. "The Chancellor elected is usually one of the more knowledgeable of those in the society; maybe an experienced professional in his field or, you know, basically anybody who wishes to do something for the state: which is why the crown doesn't fix a term length for the post._

 _"Each year, all people in the kingdom who are eligible to vote are sent an envelope where they are required to rate the chancellor. If more than two third of the people are happy with him, the chancellor gets to continue for another year."_

 _Diana only now realised why he seemed so proud of this post: any chancellor elected who works with selfish interests in mind cannot, in any way, force the crown or the ministers to act in a certain way because his post has no legal standing. That way, only the good would filter through to the ministers and if what is filtered out piles up, the people can vote him out of office in a year._

 _"This is genius," she realised._

 _Daniel just smiled at that. "I was sure you were ready to argue the lack of legal standing of the chancellor with me had I not said that last part," he smirked and she looked away, embarrassed._

 _"So, what are you studying here?" he questioned._

 _"Law," she replied._

 _"And your interest in the history of monarchies?" he asked._

 _"Well, I live in a monarchy myself, and I'm here for a semester abroad," she replied. "As for my love for history," she shrugged. "I guess, I just always found it fascinating."_

 _"I find history fascinating too," he agreed. "Which of the –"_

 _He couldn't finish his question as the man who had spoken to Daniel in the tent approached him and they began a quick conversation once more. They continued to talk for over a minute, glancing in her direction a couple of times, before Daniel finally raised a hand to stop the other man before turning to face her._

 _"Diana of Kaarsdorf," he addressed her and she realised he knew she was from Wilhelmsberg; Kaarsdorf was the village she had been born in. Before she could say anything about it, he said something she had never imagined she would hear her King say to her._

 _"Would you like to join me for dinner tonight?"_

"Whoa," Sarah exclaimed as Diana finished her story. "Was the dinner that night good?" she waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"Best dinner I've ever had," Diana smirked, laughing at the surprised 'o' her mouth formed in shock. Nothing had happened that night other than dinner, but Sarah didn't know that and Diana was about to capitalise on it:

"The _dessert_ was the best part," she said with a wink.

~oOo~

 **30th June, 1995. Wednesday**

Through the angry grey skies over the large baroque mansion, one perseverant beam of light pierced through the clouds as it barrelled through the second window from the left on the third floor, illuminating the pages of a rare eleventh century manuscript.

The two burning candle on either side of the books, now overshadowed by the sun's light, burned aimlessly, before two slender fingers, white as bone, reached toward them and gently snuffed the light out of them, relishing the power they possessed over the candles.

The manor, which had once been a place where he studied some of the more esoteric forms of the magical arts, had now become a prison: figuratively for him and literally for those chained to the walls in the dungeons.

The fight in the cemetery at Little Hangleton had had a profound effect on him – the disarming spell that had almost hit him did not haunt him as much as the other one did. He hadn't slept the last two nights – for he would wake up as his thoughts were haunted by the bright white phoenix, flying toward him in his sleep.

The only thought on his mind every time he woke up after that nightmare was a very troubling question: how had a mere child of fourteen done something he had never been able to do?

The restricted section of the Hogwarts library had managed to pique his interest in school, when he had come across a chapter in an ancient tome, written in Parseltongue. He had spent weeks trying to find more about the concept of Magick, but his efforts hadn't paid any dividends.

"You requested my presence?" squeaked a tiny figure standing by the doorway, holding a lamp in his hand, illuminating his face.

"Wormtail," the Dark Lord summoned his servant. The cowardly grown man cowered as his master called out his name and he edged forward, further into the room.

The Dark Lord had blamed Wormtail for the lacklustre duel in the cemetery – the magically inept man who had lived as a rat for over a decade had wet his pants under the glare of the Dark Lord as he was ridiculed in front of every death eater gathered that night. The Dark Lord had lost because his new form was weak, unable to channel the power of the great Lord Voldemort: Wormtail, who had most certainly done something wrong during the ritual, was to blame.

"Come Wormtail," the Dark Lord turned to face the man. Wormtail walked to the table, before placing the lamp beside him as he knelt on the ground.

"Did we find any more of the traitors?" Voldemort questioned.

The hunt for those who had not shown up that night in the maze had begun the night of the duel – and had been very successful so far; his inner circle had been given the power to decide the fate of those in the ranks while those who had constituted of his inner circle in the war a decade ago and had not returned when the call had sounded at the cemetery; they were to be brought back to the manor.

"M-m-master, I-Igor is still in hiding," Wormtail presented the bad news first.

The treachery of Igor Karkaroff during the trials where he had given up names of fellow Death Eaters for a reduced sentence had painted a target on his back: the fact that he had constantly refused any further help during the Competition had made him their top priority.

"Surely that is not the only thing you have for me?" the Dark Lord asked with an edge to his voice.

"N-n-n-o-no, master," Wormtail replied, holding up a vial in front of him. Lord Voldemort sneered at the pathetic figure of the man, barely able to speak in his presence. Before he could say anything further, the Dark Lord pushed him back with his foot and he stood up, straightening his robes. He bent down and pressed the Mark on Wormtail's arm, summoning his followers to the ballroom; ignoring the weeping man, the Dark Lord made his way out the door.

The ballroom had been – redecorated – the day Lord Voldemort had returned. What had once been an opulent show of wealth had been stripped down of the chandeliers and the paintings and the glasses and the colour: what was left was a mere shadow – a skeleton draped in grey – much like what the Dark Lord felt at the moment in his frail form.

To the far end of the room, on an elevated platform sat the only display of wealth in the form of a throne – a stolen relic from the time when the family had moved from France and into the welcoming bosom of Britannia.

"Welcome," he said with a swing of his arm as he looked down on the purebloods of Magical Britain. Bigotry had led them here, kneeling at the feet of a half-blood; undoubtedly one of the most talented and powerful wizards in centuries – but a half-blood, nonetheless. His lips allowed himself a smile.

"What news do you bring, Nott?" he questioned. Thaddeus Nott the Fourth had been one of his earliest followers – and one of probably only a handful people who knew about his blood status.

"We believe we can do it, my Lord," he said, cryptically. "I would like to ask for some time to manage the resources, but I assure you, given time, we cannot fail."

"How much time do you need?" the Dark Lord asked.

"Ideally, I would like a month, maybe a week more," replied Nott.

"You have twenty days," Lord Voldemort said and with a gesture dismissed the veteran Death Eater who retreated with a bow of his head.

"My Lord," Malfoy stepped up, to the front of the crowd and knelt at the ground.

"Lucius," Voldemort addressed him, his tone neutral. "How is Abraxas?"

"He is no more, my Lord. He succumbed to Dragon Pox over a decade ago," Lucius informed. Voldemort smiled inwardly: Abraxas Malfoy, like Thaddeus, was one of those who knew the truth of his origin – and now that he was dead, there was one more person to worry about.

Things lapsed into an awkward silence: Voldemort was instructing his familiar who had almost reached the final landing to the floor, a silence which the head of the Malfoy family took as a moment of silence on the death of his father.

"You have failed to bring me Igor," Lord Voldemort sounded displeased as he addressed the man. "You said you would need four days –"

"Master, we know where Igor is –"

"SILENCE!" bellowed the Dark Lord as he jumped from his seat in anger. "Knowing where somebody might be is absolutely worthless: do you want me to punish _you_ for _his_ treachery?"

"No-no-no," Lucius managed to keep it together. "I will find that traitorous bastard and I will do it –"

The declaration was interrupted by the noises made by Wormtail as he was dragged across the floor of the ballroom by Nagini; the crowd at the back making way for the enormous snake – many of them seeing her for the first time.

"Thanks, Nagini," the Dark Lord hissed at the snake in Parseltongue before addressing Wormtail. He said something to the man lying on the ground; Wormtail then got up and scuttled across the floor, away from the ballroom and into the manor.

"You were saying?"

"My Lord, Igor was last spotted at the Durmstrang Institute, possibly there to collect his personal effects. We waited there for him, but he must have gotten away somehow – maybe using a secret passage at the Institute."

The Dark Lord did not seem very pleased with his effort.

 **/Warning: Violence. Reader discretion advised/**

"Do you know who that is?" Lord Voldemort pointed to the boy that Wormtail had managed to drag across the ballroom and right across from Lucius, without anyone noticing. Lord Voldemort decided to reward Wormtail for his stealth later. Right now, he had a point to make. And he needed an outlet for the frustration built up from his futile search in the archives.

"Remove that cloth," he instructed and Wormtail yanked the black cloth from the top of the boy's head to reveal the figure of a person Lucius, of all people, would have no trouble recognising.

"Not my son!" Narcissa stepped to the front of the crowd, between Lucius and her boy.

The Dark Lord looked at the scene in front of him and smiled. Too much time had passed since he had been entertained. He had stopped his followers from going on their muggle-hunting sprees, choosing to lay low until the ministry could be worked around to their side. He had been rash once, not again. The ban on muggle-hunting, however, meant that they didn't have a lot of opportunity for entertainment the last week.

"You have already overshot your limit," he said as he stood up, a charm on his voice amplifying it across the room. "You have been inactive for _thirteen years_ when I was weak without any regard of the promises you made; and now that the great Lord Voldemort is here, you still continue to do the same.

"To everybody who is new here, let this be a lesson for you," he said before he called an elf. He spoke something to the elf that then popped away and returned with a small box in its hand. Lord Voldemort took the box and kicked the elf away, dismissing him.

"Rise, Wormtail," he said with much pomp. "You have been a faithful servant – cowardly, utterly worthless at times – but faithful. Remember that Lord Voldemort always rewards those who _earn_ it," he addressed the crowd.

The box was opened and the Dark Lord retrieved a bracelet from it – an ornate goblin-made bracelet, extremely rare and worth more than everything that had been in the ballroom before it had been redecorated. The bracelet had been retrieved from the Malfoy vaults – something both the adult Malfoys seemed to be aware of. Wormtail sobbed as he received the gift from his master, prostrate, kissing the hem of the Dark Lord's cloak, before moving to the edge of the room.

"And as for those who fail," he turned to look at Lucius, his voice laced with malice. Then he turned to the beautiful form of Narcissa Malfoy – over a decade older now than what she had been when he had last seen her, and yet she was still the epitome of aristocratic beauty.

The crowds at the back began a chant of 'Punishment', something which quickly caught on so much so that almost everybody in the room had joined in. The look on Lucius' face was wonderful to watch; Voldemort hadn't felt so ecstatic in quite a long time.

"But, Lord Voldemort will allow you to choose," he said magnanimously. "So tell me Lucius, who will have to suffer for your failures this time: your wife or the boy?"

The once proud form of Lucius Malfoy looked completely helpless as he was forced to make the choice. His wife, however, spared him having to choose.

"Leave my boy out of this, my Lord," she said.

"Very well," he said before the white yew wand fired a _Crucio_ – not at Narcissa, but at the boy instead!

The ballroom was filled with the screams of the teen as it suffered an unbearable amount of pain. He screamed, writhed and rolled on the floor, his legs flailing wildly as his hands tried to crack open his skull to stop the pain. Sore from screaming so much, the boy's sounds had changed in pitch and timbre: a sound as rejuvenating for Lord Voldemort as ambrosia was to the gods.

The look on the face of both Malfoys was an incredibly satisfying bonus. It was several minutes before Lucius found his bearing, moving toward the boy while Narcissa seemed stunned: she stood there, tears streaming down her beautiful face as she watched the boy being tortured. It looked like she might jump in the path of the spell, but she was too shocked to move.

"Stop," the Dark Lord said, as he ended the spell, presumably having had enough of the boy who seemed to have lost his voice screaming. Lucius continued until he was beside the boy, trying to get him to wake up.

"You have failed, Lucius, and your punishment shall come at your hands – and yours alone," he said ominously as he disappeared in a cloud of black smoke, before appearing behind Narcissa. He stood behind her and grabbed her by the waist, and pulled her into him. His first touch of the female form in nearly a decade and a half was doing things to him he had never thought he would be able to enjoy once again when he had roamed as a wraith. He sniffed the mixture of lavender and rose in her hair, before gently sliding his hand around her neck.

With the cold blade of a dagger pressed against the throat of his wife, her gasp gained his attention, as he looked away from the boy who had, quite possibly, been tipped over.

"Your punishment, Lucius, is because you refused to make the choice. Lord Voldemort cared for you, so much so as to offer you a choice and you disrespected him. Lord Voldemort will not tolerate being disrespected."

"But my Lord," Lucius began but stopped as Voldemort glared at him.

"You have served many years, Lucius, so Lord Voldemort will offer you a choice once more," he said with a sadistic smile. "You kill the boy, or I will kill your wife," he said as he pressed the blade against her, which cut through her skin and drew blood.

"No-no-no-no-no," he said. "You cannot ask me to make this choice my Lord," he said, his worried face speaking volumes about the state of his mind.

"My Lord, I swear I will get you Karkaroff in ten days," he proclaimed, trying to get the Dark Lord off of his case. "I will get him in a weeks' time," he tried once more when his offer didn't merit any reaction from the lord.

The Dark Lord was elated: while having the power over the lives of people provided him with a thrill, a rush like nothing else had, Lucius' offer was tempting. If Lucius was successful, Igor Karkaroff would provide enough entertainment for a week – and if Lucius did not deliver on his promise... he smirked at the thought of the opportunity that would provide.

"Please spare my family, my Lord – I will give you Igor Karkaroff by the end of this week," Lucius begged.

"Igor Karkaroff. By the end of this week?" Lord Voldemort confirmed. Lucius seemed extremely happy at the thought of having managed to save the life of his family. He nodded vigorously, trying to get the Dark Lord off of his wife so that he might treat his son.

The Dark Lord seemed to think about it for a minute before he pushed Narcissa out of the way and smiled at Lucius. Then, before anybody could recognise what was happening:

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " Lord Voldemort bellowed as the green streak of death hit the boy relieving him from his misery, as the familiar high of the kill filled him. Stunned, Lucius and Narcissa watched the spell hit true, before turning their attention to the Dark Lord, the hurt of betrayal clearly written on their face.

"You will bring me Igor Karkaroff by the end of the week, Lucius, or the next time, that _will_ be your son," he threatened before vanishing away in a black smoke.

The head of the Malfoy family looked down at the body of the boy at his feet: a black haired man lay there, lifeless. A flood of relief filled into him – and his wife who rushed across the room and hugged him fiercely when the Dark Lord had left. He recognised the boy as one of the muggles in the dungeons at the manner.

The both breathed a sigh of immense relief:

 _The blonde haired boy had only been a muggle.  
_

* * *

 **Author's Note:** A big 'Thank you!' to all those who have followed this story and added it to your list of favourite stories! Yes, that last part took me some time to write. That is the sort of man Harry Potter is up against, somebody who probably wouldn't think twice before killing the only son of one of his most devoted followers. The Dark Lord has only one goal - something he is sure he has achieved. Writing a deranged mad man is easy, until you realise that he too will have motivation for everything that he does – sometimes it is just pure sadistic pleasure, and other times, there is a lot of thought into it. Writing such a man took time, which is probably why this chapter took so long.

This is also, by far, the longest chapter thus far, another reason why it took me so long to get it done. I hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter! Like and Review :)


	4. Chapter 4: Magick

**Disclaimer** **:** Harry Potter is the brainchild of the wonderful Rowling and I am merely borrowing her characters for a little idea I had one day.

 **A/N** **:** It has been a long time since the last update, but finally, it's here! Enjoy:

* * *

 **29th June, 1995. Thursday**

"Couldn't sleep?" Sirius questioned as he saw his godson make his way into the kitchen.

Like his godfather, Harry too had been unable to sleep – he had spent most of the night in an armchair, trying unsuccessfully. Every time he went back to his bed the tapestry on the ceiling caught his eye and he couldn't help but feel disturbed.

"That ruddy ceiling," Harry muttered as he poured himself a glass of water.

"Just water, Harry?" Sirius asked, a touch of mirth colouring his voice.

"I think I've had enough for my first time," Harry smiled back. Sirius looked like he was about to object; but he tipped his glass in acceptance.

"What's keeping you awake?" Harry asked as he took a seat.

"Something you said," he replied cryptically.

Before harry could question him further, Sirius rose from his seat and rushed out of the room. Harry followed his godfather as he made his way into the hall and then further into the house. Harry almost bumped into Sirius when he stopped abruptly in front of a door.

The door itself was rather like every other door in the house except for the coat of arms displayed in gold on the black door.

"The chamber of the head of the house," Sirius informed, although Harry had already reached the same conclusion: it wasn't too hard, given that the giant arms occupied the middle third of no other door in the door but this.

Sirius stood in front of the door, almost knocking on it, as if he expected somebody to open it if he knocked. When he realised nobody would open the door for him from the inside, Sirius sighed. Dejectedly he reached for the door and gently pushed it.

The familiar smell of a suffocated room greeted Harry as he entered: the smell of a room that had been closed for too long, having had to endure the punishment of time. His mind wandered briefly to the cupboard under the stairs; the musty smell of abandonment and neglect hit him hard and he stumbled into the back of a chair.

He looked around the room: it appeared to be a lounge, perhaps a place for the lord to host his guests. Two armchairs stood facing the fireplace and an arrangement of sofas behind them offered seating for more people should the need arise along with a slightly more formal setting.

The wall across from the fireplace held a portrait – the inscription under which read: ' _Arcturus Cygnus Black_ ' – presumably the last Lord Black, Harry mused. Or the most noteworthy. Or both.

As he marvelled at the ornate coat of arms over the fireplace – something about it was different that the one he had seen on the door – he realised he was the only one in the room.

"Sirius!" he called as he looked around the room. There were three doors leading further into the chambers. Harry went in through the nearest door.

A bedchamber, Harry realised, as he looked around the room. The furniture looked ancient and the layer of dust on everything made it abundantly clear that the room hadn't been occupied in a very long time. Harry moved out of the room and in through the next door.

It was another bedchamber; this one looked cleaner – and more ornate – than the other one. This was, perhaps, the bedchamber of the Lord Black. Not having found Sirius in either of the two rooms, Harry pushed through the third door.

Standing in front of the fireplace Harry saw Sirius scratching away with a quill.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked as he made his way further into the room and toward his godfather. A cursory glance around the room left him with no doubt as to the nature of the room: it was the study of Lord Black.

"Just tweaking the wards a little," replied Sirius without taking his eyes off the book.

"Oh," said Harry. "Whatever for?"

"Dumbledore," Sirius replied. "I'm planning to keep him from making any more choices on your behalf."

"What exactly are you planning to do?" Harry asked, unsure if he made the right choice when he confided in Sirius.

"A _Fidelius_ ," Sirius grinned at Harry. "That way he cannot find you even if he tried."

"That is genius," Harry marvelled at that. "Professor Flitwick, our _Charms_ professor, did tell us about the _Fidelius_ in our third year – although his explanation was very brief," he frowned.

"What do you know about the _Fidelius_?"

"Well," Harry paused a second to think about it. "Professor Flitwick said that the _Fidelius_ is a concealment charm which is used to conceal a secret inside the living soul of a person – and that this information, once hidden, would thenceforth be impossible to find."

"Well, yes," Sirius thought about that. "I believe that is one way to put it. The _Fidelius_ isn't as easy as it sounds: it is an extremely difficult but potent charm. What the _Fidelius_ would mean for Grimmauld Place is that the building can no longer be found – for all purposes, it is invisible.

"Even the members of _my_ family," Sirius made a sour face when he realised Bellatrix, too, was his family, "will walk down the road, without knowing where to find this place. The _Fidelius_ makes Number 12 unplottable, soundproof and untraceable."

"What about owls?" Harry needed to make sure Hedwig could find the place once she returned from her hunt. Sirius, however, seemed to be thinking about what he had said. He knew there was something wrong with it, but he couldn't know for sure.

"Don't worry, Hedwig can find this place – she is your familiar, isn't she?" Sirius asked knowingly. Harry nodded, unsure if his connection with Hedwig was enough to make her his familiar.

"Can nobody find us, then?" Harry wondered.

"I am the Secret Keeper for the _Fidelius_ on Grimmauld Place – which means I will have to personally reveal the address to another person only then will they know where to find this place. I could also write it down, although doing that is extremely risky."

"Well, if the _Fidelius_ is so potent, why don't people use it to hide their homes from intruders?" Harry wondered.

"You see Harry; the _Fidelius_ is an extremely complex spell, which means it is extremely easy to get wrong. It requires a lot of knowledge and strength to cast the _Fidelius_ , not to mention time," Sirius said. "What I did right now is to just activate the charm which was already written into the warding scheme," he tapped the book.

"What I'm trying to say is that not every witch or wizard is capable of casting a potent _Fidelius_."

Harry understood what Sirius was trying to say, but there was something which he couldn't understand: "These past four years at Hogwarts, I've been told my mother was the smartest witch of her age, and my father – notwithstanding his penchant for pranks – was as brilliant a wizard as his wife."

"And you're wondering how Voldemort found where they were hiding?"

"No," Harry shook his head. "Pettigrew betrayed everyone – I know as much. No, this is about something Hagrid said when I met him before my first year at Hogwarts: he told me he had taken me from my house at Godric's Hollow and brought me to the Dursley's. If the house was under _Fidelius_ , and you were after Pettigrew – how did Hagrid know where to find me?"

Sirius was surprised at the question – but proud that his godson had managed to connect both the cases of _Fidelius_ he had seen and then spot this.

"The _Fidelius_ , for which the _rat_ was the Secret Keeper, was not the location of the house; rather, the knowledge hidden was the location of your parents – and you," Sirius explained. "Voldemort, right after the _Fidelius_ , forgot everything he knew about your parents – he had no memories of James and Lily Potter, nor was he aware where he could find you. It was only after Pettigrew _told_ Voldemort about you and your parents that you became a target once more."

"That rat bastard," Harry muttered under his breath.

"The _Fidelius_ works in surprising ways, Harry – you see, we knew the address of the house where your parents were living, and it is quite possible that a lot of other people knew it too: but they didn't know _who_ lived at that address, or who they were writing to.

"Magic, Harry, is all about intent – and the intent when the _Fidelius_ was cast was to hide your parents – and you – from the Voldemort. A pretty successful venture had we not chosen Pettigrew as the Secret Keeper," Sirius regretted having suggested Pettigrew's name even today.

Distraught at the thought of his parent's murder, Harry fetched himself a glass before pouring himself some Firewhiskey. Although the _Fidelius_ seemed like a very easy option, it came with its own set of shortcomings. He had often wondered how it was that Hagrid had found him as a child – this made a lot of sense to him.

He had never understood why Pettigrew had been made the Secret Keeper, instead of one of his parents stepping up for that position. This provided him with an answer: since the information hidden in the _Fidelius_ was not the place where the Potters lived, but the identity and the existence of the Potter Family, they couldn't be the Secret Keeper for themselves. They required another person, another _living soul_ , to be their Secret Keeper – and that had been the weak link in their defence.

A small voice at the back of his head was happy that he had realised Ronald couldn't be one of those who could be trusted with this information, should he ever need to cast a _Fidelius_. Harry knew he could trust Sirius, but the only other option Harry had was –

"Hermione!" he realised. Sirius, who had spent the silence thinking about better times he had lived in his past, looked up sharply at that outburst.

"I just realised Hermione won't be able to write to me if I'm under the _Fidelius_!"

Sirius tried, and failed, to control his laughter as Harry's face turned from realisation to outrage to embarrassment, cycling through the emotions quickly before settling on a sheepish one, refusing to meet his eyes anymore.

"Do you want me to write to her?" Sirius asked after a while.

"You said it was risky," Harry pointed out dejectedly.

"Well then why don't you ask her to meet you somewhere nearby and then I could let her in on our secret," Sirius winked.

Harry sprang from his chair and rushed up the stairs, possibly to write the letter and leave it for Hedwig to deliver the first thing in the morning after she was back from her hunt.

It was then that Sirius realised Harry probably hadn't been given the talk. He groaned.

~oOo~

 **29th June, 1995.** **Thursday**

Albus Dumbledore apparated to the corner of the street and following a quick glance at the street name, he began walking up the street. Dressed in robes of a muted shade of violet – one of his more restrained outfits – with his white beard swaying with the wind, the fact that Albus Dumbledore was tired could only be seen in the depths of his eyes.

The nameplate halted his walk and he turned around to look at the house.

A tree shot up into the sky behind the two-car garage, while the stone-edged gravel path leading to the front door was lined on either side by small plants and bushes. The aged warlock looked at the house; the news he brought with him was hardly one to raise the atmosphere of the occupants. He had not given up hope. Not yet, at least.

With a long, weary sigh Albus Dumbledore made his way to the front door, choosing to knock on the door, rather than use the muggle contraption beside it – a 'doorbell' if he had been informed correctly.

He didn't have to wait too long before he heard somebody approaching the door. A fumble with a latch and Hermione opened the door.

"Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione, surprised to see the headmaster at her door.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," Dumbledore greeted jovially. Seeing that Hermione was still trying to fathom why he was there, "Perhaps I can come in?" he suggested.

"Yes, yes, of course," she said sheepishly as she realised she had kept the headmaster waiting at the door. "Please come in."

Dumbledore followed his pupil as she led into a small seating area, where a vase full of roses caught his attention. Deviating from his path toward the couch, Dumbledore migrated to the fragrance: it had been a while since roses had captured his attention. The Hogwarts' rose patch was near the greenhouse – and too far below the windows in his office for their fragrance to truly carry. _Maybe I should get myself a vase_ he thought, making a note to do so on his way back.

"Perhaps a visit to the Greengrass store is in order," he murmured. The Greengrass store in Diagon Alley was a treasure trove for a gardening enthusiast. Alas, this last generation of Greengrass' hadn't found as much love for it as their ancestor had.

"I was wondering if I could talk to you, Miss Granger," he turned from the vase to look at her.

"Regarding what, professor?" Hermione asked, stuck between choosing to sit down on the couch and continuing to stand. The headmaster, perceptive as usual, conjured himself a chair and sat on it before he answered her question.

"I was wondering if you've had the chance to speak with Mr. Potter after he left Hogwarts," he said.

"Harry Potter?" another voice questioned from behind him, and Albus Dumbledore almost strained his neck as he turned around to look at Hermione's mother – for the woman with the brown curly hair could be no one else – who had walked in from the kitchen (if the apron was an indication). Albus Dumbledore was surprised he hadn't heard her walk – although with carpets as thick as the ones on the floor, he didn't hold that against himself – this time.

"Good morning, Dr Granger," Dumbledore greeted the woman who promptly nodded back in greeting. Although this was the first time she was meeting the headmaster, she knew enough about the eccentric old wizard to recognise him. "I must apologise for visiting you here uninvited but I must speak to your daughter."

"About Harry Potter?" her mother questioned. Yes, she had heard a lot about Harry Potter in the letters Hermione sent back home and although she would have thought they were together; the letters gave nothing away about it if they were.

"Indeed," he nodded his head. He looked into her eyes as he told Hermione, "Harry was supposed to meet his relatives at the station yesterday, before visiting a relative in Norwich. I spoke with them last night, and they remember nothing about the incident."

"Professor, I have no idea where Harry is," Hermione said. "Although I'm sure he's there because he _wants_ to be there," she added, earning a stern look from her mother.

Unlike Hermione, her mother had not been privy to Fred, George and Ron's rant about how his relatives had locked him up before his second year. Her mother hadn't met Harry, so she couldn't possible know his reaction to being hugged was that of somebody who hadn't had a lot of affection growing up – she had not forgotten the first time she hugged him – and for nearly two years following that – Harry stood as a stiff board whenever she hugged him, only now beginning to return the hug. Her mother didn't know Harry received the first Christmas present he could remember when _Ron's mother_ sent him a Christmas jumper!

Her mother was incapable of understanding where the forceful reaction had come from. Hermione was sure some explanation would be in order.

"Miss Granger, if you know where Harry is, I must insist you tell me where I can find him."

"So you can send him back to the Dursley's?" she argued.

"There are things you do not know here, Hermione," the slight change in the timbre of his voice was the only indication that Albus Dumbledore did not like her answer.

 _'I know Dumbledore will not allow me to leave Number Four: for some reason he chooses to always keep from me, I fear he will keep me at that place, even if it is by force.'_ _Harry's words echoed in her head. And for the first time in her life, she began to doubt her unwavering faith in authority._

 _"Why would you want to send him to a place where nobody wants him?" she cried out._

Her mother was shocked as she heard what her daughter was saying – was this man really trying to send a kid into an unloving environment? Judging by Hermione's reaction, the place where Harry Potter had spent the first decade of his life did not seem like a very good one. She knew there was a lot she did not know about the situation and as much as she wanted to ask Hermione, she knew this was not the time to do so.

"Hermione," Dumbledore said calmly. "As long as Harry lives with his relatives, he is safe there – nobody can harm him: it is the only place outside of Hogwarts that Harry is safe."

"Who would want to attack a child?" Hermione's mother cut in, unable to stop herself this time. Was Harry Potter so important a person in the magical world, that he could be attacked – and if he was, why was the magical police not doing anything about it? Why did the _headmaster_ of the school have to make his way all the way from Scotland to London? 'Why _would somebody want to attack a child?_ ' she wondered.

"Mother, there is a lot you do not know," Hermione replied before Dumbledore could. _Please, not now_ , she pleaded as she looked at her mother, who nodded.

"Professor," Hermione took a deep breath before continuing. "The Dursley's are muggles; surely you aren't suggesting that they have means to defend themselves – or Harry – against other wizards," falling back to logical reasoning at this time.

Dumbledore contemplated his options. He chose to go with the truth – or at least the part she needed to know.

"There are wards around his house, Hermione," he said, almost patronisingly. "Nobody who wishes harm upon Harry Potter can enter the house."

"That does nothing about the danger within, does it?" she shot back.

"Harry Potter lives with his relatives – what danger could he possibly be in?" Dumbledore asked, surprised that Hermione would consider Harry's family a threat.

Hermione looked hard at the headmaster, wondering if he was telling the truth.

"Harry's letter from Hogwarts was addressed to 'The Cupboard under the Stairs'!" she replied, the mere memory horrifying her. "Why would you force him to return to those people every year?"

Dumbledore knew about Harry's living conditions – and although they weren't ideal, he was at least alive. The prophecy needed him to be alive, and a boy who saw the magical world as his escape was more likely to die fighting for it than a boy who would simply go back to living as a muggle.

"With _him_ back, we cannot take that risk with Harry's life," Dumbledore declared.

He got up from his chair and walked behind it, choosing to stand with his hands resting on the back of the chair making an imposing figure as he towered over the seated occupants.

"You wouldn't remember what it was like, the last time _he_ was alive," his sombre tone quickly permeating through the atmosphere of the room. "People went missing, never to be heard from ever again. Others left their houses for work in the morning but returned drastically different, with no memories of the day, sometimes weeks! Yet others did not return at all.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about war, Hermione, but surely even you see that it isn't prudent to leave a target as valuable as Harry unprotected. Must I impress on you what would happen should anything happen to Harry Potter?"

"Can these wards be put in our house?" Hermione's mother wondered out loud, addressing the headmaster. She had been listening to the two of them go on for a while, and there was an easy way out of this.

Her question had clearly caught Dumbledore off guard, and she pressed continued. "These relatives of Harry are non magical folk," she refused to call herself a 'muggle', "and if these wards are enough protection, we could put them in _our_ house. That way we can have Harry for the summer," she said the last part looking at her daughter.

"That is brilliant!" Hermione beamed at her mother. _Why hadn't_ she _thought of that?!_

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "I must say it is quite benevolent of you to offer, but I must inform you that the nature of the wards around his house cannot be replicated."

"What?" her mother sounded confused. "Why not?"

"You see, the house Harry lives in has its wards tied to it due to the people living in that house – his relatives by blood. The blood wards are very restrictive in nature, but they were ideal for this case," he informed. "I know this isn't an ideal solution, but given the nature of _who_ it is we are protecting and who it is we are protecting against, I felt this to be the best solution available."

The familiar screech of a white snowy owl interrupted the conversation as all three members of them turned to look at the bird as it flew in through the open window and circled around them. She spread her wings out and dragged them through the air as she slowed down and landed gracefully on the back of the couch behind Hermione.

"Go to my room, you will find water and some treats," she spoke to Hedwig. Hedwig hooted in response before flying out the window.

"Impossible," Albus gasped.

"That's Harry's owl, isn't it, dear?" her mother asked. She turned to Dumbledore questioningly – why hadn't Dumbledore tried to owl the boy himself? "I must ask, headmaster, if you tried to write to Harry."

"Of course I did," he replied. "This shouldn't be possible," he got up and walked toward the roses. "I had sent an owl addressed to Harry just this morning – but the owl never reached him and when the owl returned without having delivered the letter, I knew something was wrong, which is why I came to you, hoping you could help me," he pointed.

The letter didn't mention anything useful – Hermione had already managed to read the letter in its entirety, mainly because it was more of a note than it was a letter.

 _Hey Hermione!_

 _I am writing to tell you that I have finally managed to distance myself from my relatives – and hopefully I shall never have to see them again._

 _Worry not about my whereabouts, for I am safe._

 _Best,_

 _Harry._

 _PS: A mangy old dog invites you, Hermione Jean Granger, to his house. Arrive by no later than 5 this Monday outside Highbury and Islington station._

 _PPS: Commit the contents to memory. Destroy this note_ at once _. No excuses._

The post-scripts were written by Sirius – she recognised his scribble from the letters he had sent last year. She reread the note, and once she was certain she knew it, she quickly tore it, oblivious to the looks on the faces of both the adults in the room.

"Don't do that," Dumbledore tried to stop her, but the deed was already done. "I am extremely disappointed that you would tear a note from Harry without telling me about it, Hermione," he expressed.

"My daughter is not obligated to show to the Headmaster what she receives by post," her mother cut in before Hermione could. Then she walked to her daughter, snatched the torn bits from her hand and walked into the kitchen, presumably to throw them in the bin.

"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione began nervously. "I cannot tell you what Harry wrote to me, but you can stop worrying about him," she finished, sounding quite relieved.

"Where is Harry Potter?" Dumbledore questioned.

"He is home."

~oOo~

 **29th June, 1995. Thursday**

"Harry?" Sirius yelled from the landing as he peered down the stairs. "Come on up, there is something we need to discuss!"

After their talk, Sirius had a realisation – an idea, actually – which he wanted to share with Harry.

"What do you want to talk about?" Harry turned around to address his godfather.

"Merlin's soggy pants, Harry!" said Sirius, startled by Harry's entry. "I thought you were in your room."

"No," Harry shook his head. "I was feeding Buckbeak," he raised the bloodied bucket in his hand.

"How is Buckbeak?"

"Okay, I guess," Harry nodded. "Although, I think he is beginning to get a little agitated, stuck in a bedroom like that."

"Tell me about it," Sirius muttered under his breath.

"So?"

"So?" Sirius questioned back, wondering how Harry had managed to get hold of the dead ferrets.

"You said we needed to discuss something?" Harry reminded.

"Right," he looked at Harry. "Why don't you wash up and meet me in the study in, say, ten minutes?"

Harry looked down; one hand holding a bucket of dead ferrets, the other with ferret blood. He could use a wash – he needed one. "Alright," he agreed.

Sirius watched Harry walk down the stairs before he turned his attention to the room where he had housed the hippogriff. _His mother's bedroom_ , he thought as he entered the room.

He walked up to the door and gently pushed it open. He had been into this room only a few times – and he had not enjoyed a single visit.

The room itself had been redecorated, with most of the walls left bare. The open windows were too small for Buckbeak to try to escape, but given that he had the option to use the bed, he didn't really mind staying in the room. Or at least that is what Sirius thought. He would have loved to spend the last year in hiding in a warm cosy room with a ridiculously expensive mattress.

"Hey, Buckbeak," he greeted as he caught the attention of the creature.

The hippogriff sniffed the air before he made a noise which Sirius understood as a greeting – or maybe it was Padfoot who understood what it meant and Sirius just borrowed that knowledge. Having spent majority of his time in Azkaban as Padfoot, sometimes, Sirius couldn't really separate his two identities. Sirius had been shutting out the animagus this past week, avoiding transforming into Padfoot. He needed to be certain he had complete control of his mind: sharing with Padfoot was great as long as it was the human in control.

Sirius hadn't bowed before approaching the animal in a long time – if it was because they had spent the last year together in a cave or because Buckbeak could sense the animal inside him, Sirius was unsure.

Sirius was unsure about a lot of things these days.

Another sound from Buckbeak caught his attention: it was a cry filled with melancholy and the look in his eyes as craned his neck to look outside the window almost had Sirius reaching for his wand to unshackle the creature. The window was too small for the hippogriff to fly out through but it would be foolish to keep a creature as powerful as the hippogriff loose in a house.

"You miss flying," he noted.

Buckbeak turned his head and looked him in the eye. He nodded.

"I miss flying too," he confessed. "You know, back in school, we used to sneak out of the dorms in the night to fly over the grounds." He didn't know why he felt like sharing it with Buckbeak, but he did.

"It was so much fun – of course we flew using brooms so I can only imagine how much you must be missing the skies," he continued. He walked toward the creature, gently brushing his hands against Buckbeak's neck. "A few times we flew beyond the Hogwarts wards, across the Highlands – flew back into Hogwarts right before class." He wondered why he hadn't talked about their flying adventures to Harry. He felt Buckbeak relax to his at his touch, as he turned to look the creature in his eyes.

"You know," he laughed, "this one time we flew across the Gryffindor towers and hovered right outside the window to the girls' dormitories; almost got caught that time, somebody brought McGonagall down to investigate. I am sure McGonagall knew it was us, but she couldn't prove anything: we made sure we were out of sight when we did this; since we used James' cloak and disillusionment charms when we flew, it was not an issue. And to be fair, I wasn't the reason we almost got caught, it was James – and that was only because James was too busy trying to find Lily, hoping to see her in her knickers, to listen to us!" _And_ that _is why I didn't talk about this with Harry,_ Sirius realised.

Buckbeak let loose another cry and Sirius sympathised with the creature.

"I have a plan, Buckbeak," he said softly into the creature's ears. "If it works, I will be a free man – and I will make sure you are one too."

~oOo~

Sirius was flipping through a book when Harry arrived.

"What are you reading?"

Sirius flipped the book closed to show him the cover. _A Millennia of Black_ the book was titled.

"That is awfully thin for a millennia worth of anything," Harry observed. Sirius promptly pointed to the spine of the book. "Nineteen eighty to ninety-one," Harry read.

"This means I was wrong about something," Sirius said as he sat down beside Harry. "There is only one person who can write in this book: the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," he stated.

"And that changes things – how?" Harry wondered, unsure why Sirius felt that important enough to share.

"If the last entry in this diary was made in ninety-one, my father couldn't have been Lord Black!" Sirius exclaimed, feeling uncharacteristically happy about it.

"And that is good news?"

"Splendid news," Sirius exclaimed. "Only that was written down in this book which the Lord Black felt was either crucial for the coming generations to know, or something which he felt his descendants could learn from."

"So, what does it say?" Harry asked. The prospect of ancient wisdom had managed to pique his curiosity.

Sirius handed Harry the book.

"It's blank."

"What?" Sirius snatched the book to check for himself. The pages weren't blank.

"Maybe because I'm not a Black?" Harry wondered if the book could sense his lineage and stop him from reading. It was slightly offending, but Harry could appreciate the logic in not allowing anybody but the family to read something like that.

"But you're my godson!" Sirius replied petulantly. "Unlike the muggle thing, a magical godparent swears a magical oath - it is not something one does lightly."

"Maybe it's because I'm a half-blood?" Harry hazarded a guess.

Sirius let loose a string of profanities, cursing his family's love for everything pure. _Toujours Pur_.

"This isn't why I called you here for though," he closed the book and made his way to the study at the far end of the room. He retrieved a bowl and a dagger from one of the drawers and placed them on the table.

"What are you planning to do?" Harry looked at the bowl and dagger warily.

"You see: if grandfather Arcturus was Lord Black until his death, then there is still a pretty good chance that he didn't give up the house to Narcissa's brat – and if I claim myself as the head of house Black, there are _so_ many things I can do!"

"Like what?"

"Well for one, I could be free once more – if I am Lord Black, I can demand a trial and you know everything about that night, so three drops of veritaserum and I can finally be free. And I can pardon Buckbeak. Should I become Lord Black, I can claim the hippogriff as mine, which means the ministry, has no say about what I do with it – unless he kills another wizard – but Buckbeak is hardly going to do that now is he?"

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes," he shot back. Sirius knew what he was doing and he could only kick himself in the arse for not having thought of this sooner!

"What do you need me to do?"

"Ideally? Nothing," Sirius replied. "This ritual is quite simple: all it needs is some of my blood and some of my magic to call the House to judge my claim."

"What happens then?"

"Well, if the house spirits agree with me, I should be left with a ring in the bowl," Sirius grabbed the dagger in his left hand.

"And if the don't –?" Harry wondered.

"Let's hope we don't get to that part," he said as he pressed the dagger against his right palm.

"No wait!" Harry yelled, wanting to tell him it was a stupid idea to have him there without any guidance whatsoever, but he was too late. Sirius had slashed open the palm, clenching his fist to allow the blood to spill into the bowl below.

Harry felt the room suddenly become colder, almost as if a chilly draft had found its way in; the hair on his body had just reacted to the drop in temperature and a chill ran down his spine.

"I, Sirius Orion Black, grandson of Lord Arcturus Black, summon the Magick of House Black to grant me that which is mine; by birth and by blood, I claim the House of Black and as the Lord –" Sirius however stopped as he felt the blood in the bowl swirl, reacting to his magic.

The blood continued to swirl in the bowl before in a loud vortex it vanished from the bowl. Sirius was startled at that – the blood was supposed to rise up from the bowl, not vanish into it. He stood there, clutching the healed right palm in his left hand as he peered into the bowl, almost afraid of what was to follow. He didn't have to wait long to find out.

For generations, the Black Family had become synonymous with everything as dark as its name – the family had produced witches and wizards of extraordinary talent but they were almost always tainted by their actions, which could be justified in a lot of cases, but to everyone, the family was truly as dark as they came.

Magicks of the Ancient Houses were archaic and arcane, so much so that most people were afraid to use the Magick anymore. It was a very temperamental manifestation of Magick, something which couldn't really be leashed and controlled as easily as a wizard controlled the magic he performed using the wand. Even a minor misstep in the Magick had led to severe consequences, pushing wizards further away from them. Sirius had seen his grandfather work with the Black Magick only once – when Sirius had been named the heir to the House.

This was so different than what he had witnessed the last time. Mist darker than midnight crept up from the bowl and swarmed around it as it waited before manifesting two yellow eyes; those of a grim.

The Magicks of families are very unique to the family for they are the remnants of the magic of each individual who has been a member of the house. Magick of a family was often an indication of the inclination of the House – every colour, every scent and every form it manifested itself in was a combination of the character of the person who had summoned the Magick and it was unusual, even in the case of twins, for the manifestation of Magick to be the same.

Magick did not _need_ to manifest itself into objects which the wizards recognised, but it was easier on the mind to communicate with and control something they could see. The significance of the Grim was not lost on Sirius – the Grim has always been used to symbolise death. When the mist took the form of a Grim and growled, Sirius knew his time was up. If he was wrong, the Magick could have easily recognised him making a claim as his attempt to usurp the House from the rightful head –which was an offense punishable by the forfeiture of his life. The throaty growl of the Grim scared Sirius and he looked at Harry, desperation in his eyes, trying to convey things he had never got around to saying.

Harry watched the Grim follow Sirius' eyes before finally stopping at Harry. _Great_ , he thought. _So much for hoping this doesn't go wrong_ , he reached for his wand, unsure what he could do against the Black Magick. The atmosphere suddenly changed, almost as if reacting to him arming himself with the wand.

The Grim took two bounds on the table before leaping into the air and dissolving in a mist which shot toward Harry engulfing him before it slowly morphed into a snake that slithered down Harry's leg and onto the floor.

"Don't hurt my godson," Sirius said from across the room, reaching for his wand. "Stay away from him!"

 _'Don't be foolish, child,'_ the snake hissed, looked at Sirius. Harry looked at his godfather, who was staring at the snake in surprise when Harry's eyes widened in realisation. _Parseltongue_!

' _He only wishes to keep me safe,_ ' Harry hissed back, unsure of how it was that his mind had switched from English to Parseltongue.

' _I will not harm you, half-blood,_ ' the snake hissed back, matter-of-factly. ' _Not this time, at least.'_

' _What happened?'_ Harry asked, choosing to ignore that last part.

' _He forgot his animagus form,_ ' the snake admonished and Harry turned to Sirius, having understood what this was about. He confirmed it with the snake before relaying it to Sirius:

"The Grim was trying to communicate with Padfoot!"

"Why didn't I understand it then?"

"You were too scared of transforming into Padfoot, I think," Harry voiced his opinion.

' _He is the rightful_ heir _to House Black,'_ the snake informed, ' _but the Head of House Black he is not._ '

"Who is the Head of House then?" Sirius questioned, dreading the answer he already knew.

' _The Raven had always wished to be followed by the Grim – that was until the Grim lost its way, and lost its claim, sheltered as it was by the Cloaks. The Raven has mourned the loss, for; I would not allow the Black Magick to be passed onto someone who might never see the free Sun anymore: the power of the Raven has been passed onto another line and another House._

 _'Do not seek to summon me again – for that power lies not with you: I am here only as a courtesy to the Raven. We shall meet soon enough when the Grim meets the new Head – the Raven's successor._

~oOo~

The closing hour of Gringotts Wizarding Bank was a time when the Black Accounts manager would walk down to the vaults and check once more the security before leaving for the day. The closing hour of Gringotts Wizarding Bank today saw the Black Accounts manager scramble to the director, an envelope clutched tightly in his hands, his gait belaying the urgency of the matter at hand.

The guards followed his movement as he entered the antechamber which led to the director's office. Every minute he spent there talking with the secretary to the director, was a minute wasted – but he had managed to reach the antechamber which was enough to guarantee him an audience with the director, which was what he had been hoping for.

He did not have to wait long before he found himself sitting across from Director Ragnok.

"I believe there is something you insist I see before closing today?" Ragnok began the dialogue, without looking up from the file he had been looking into.

"Indeed, Director," Goldfang nodded. "I received this today, when I went to the vaults," he placed the envelope on the table.

"Which vault?"

"The Black Vaults, Director," Goldfang replied, confused at that question.

"All vaults belonging to the Black Family were to be shut down – I remember distinctly what _she_ had said, sitting on that chair over there," Ragnok pointed a long slender finger beyond Goldfang. "What are these vaults you are talking about?"

"When I was handed the vaults, I was instructed to oversee the transfer of the contents of the Black vaults away from Gringotts. The process had to begin with creating an inventory of the entire effects of the vaults, which took us over a month – by which time we had already received another letter asking to stop the transfer, but to complete the process of inventory that had already begun.

"The order mentioned you by name, Director, and it said that you were not to be informed any further about the states of the Black Vaults and the bank would be allowed to extract a sum for their services, but any further investments from the vaults were to be stopped."

Ragnok reached for the envelope: it was addressed to him.

He scanned the envelope before slitting it open and pulling out the letter from inside it. Almost dropping it when he read the date on it, Ragnok forced himself to continue to the body of the letter. He read the letter, downed the glass of water on his table and read it once more. Only then did he address Goldfang.

"I will need you to send a letter for me," he said as he began scribbling a draft of the letter on his notepad. He tore away a couple of them before having the quill copy it on a paper with the Gringotts letterhead on it.

He sealed the letter using his ring before handing over the letter to Goldfang.

"Make sure our best owl is sent with this letter," he ordered.

Knowing a dismissal, Goldfang bowed before he got up and made his way to the door before he heard the director call him.

" _This time_ , keep me informed," he growled.

~oOo~

Two hours after the bank had closed for the day, Ragnok sat in his office, cradling the drink in his hand. He glanced at the picture above the fireplace and sighed – it was a harrowing picture, but if the painting taught him something, it was that every problem did not have to be resolved wielding the battleaxe.

He had been the director of the bank for decades now, a position which was more than just sitting in as the head of a bank. Gringotts was more than just a bank, it was a nation in itself, and living in the labyrinth under London was the largest goblin population in Britain – and every goblin living there looked up to the director to lead them.

He had successfully managed to curb the young ones who had wanted to fight the war with Grindelwald – and the aftermath of the war meant nobody was willing to rush to aid either side of a war that they were not a part of, when Voldemort came along.

He scoffed at the irony of the situation: _A half-blood had all the prominent purebloods wrapped around his bony little finger_. Gringotts, unsurprisingly, knew the real identity of Lord Voldemort – and Ragnok knew at least two other people who did so too. Why they never told the truth, he would never understand.

Ragnok had never interfered with the happenings of the wizarding world – it wasn't the treaty which stopped him, rather his view that it was not his business telling who the purebloods should or should not follow. If they wished to worship the ground a half-blood walked on, Ragnok would do nothing about it but sit in his chair, read the news and laugh.

Like wizards, who had no love for the goblin race, goblins too had no love for wizards and the fact that the horrors of the rebellions were not forgotten could be seen when a gathering of old goblins was combined with a continuous supply of grog. His attention turned once more to the picture above the fireplace. It was something he wished to never live through – something he had trained and prepared for his entire career as Director, but something he wished he never had to do.

A sigh escaped his lips as he sat back up in the chair. The director never looked after any bank accounts – that is, until he had met Arcturus Black. Arcturus had written to him one day, as the Lord Black, and the following that meeting, Arcturus had managed to convince Ragnok that it was a good idea to look into both the wizarding and the muggle world as opportunities.

"What have you done, Arcturus?" Ragnok growled. He had no intention of working with _her_ and if her son was anything like her, every meeting would be a chore for him. He would do it for Arcturus though; he did not have in him the strength to defy the last wishes of the only wizard he saw as a friend.

He rose to pour himself some more grog when he found himself reaching for a bottle of single malt instead. Goblins had no real love for whisky – the beverage was too diluted for their tastes. That was until he had been introduced to that particular brand; yes, it was still akin to a child's drink for him, but now he had learnt to savour that taste.

With the glass now full once more, he looked at the bottle and as his mind travelled back to his friend, a single tear left his eye; he read the tag attached to the neck of the bottle by a string.

 _'To Ragnok, for you to cherish, savour and enjoy the pleasure of fine single malt'_ it read.

There was no name on the tag, but he would never forget the wizard who sent him that: the only wizard he had ever respected in his life.

* * *

 **A/N** **:** I sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please hit the like button if you liked it and please leave a review. Constructive criticism and praise will always be appreciated. Toodles!


	5. Chapter 5: Danger

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and the entire thingy belong to Rowling (duh!)

 **A/N** : This chapter took tooooo long to write. Hope you guys like it!

* * *

 _ **Chapter 5**_

 **3rd July, 1995. Monday**

"That is as far as you go for now, Draco," his father's cane hooked into his shoulder from behind while his voice made it clear there was no swaying his father right now.

Draco held his head back in disappointment; he had been looking forward to this mission since last night. While he didn't say anything about it, his eyes spoke volumes as they glared at his father, an eyebrow cocked in question.

"It is a really great day for a stroll through the Alley." It wasn't a suggestion.

Draco wasn't about to let his father ruin the day for him. He glared at his father for a long while before leaving with a curt nod. As much as he didn't want to admit it, it was indeed a great day for a stroll.

Draco saw his father wait until he had crossed the street before he walked into the store. He watched his father flip the sign to 'closed' and shut the blinds. With a sigh, Draco walked away from the store.

As a child, Draco had frequently visited the Alley: his mother would take him for a walk from The Leaky Cauldron down to Flourish and Blotts, where he would usually spend a few hours gobbling up books while his mother visited her friends. They would stop at Florean's for ice cream before returning back to The Leaky Cauldron.

Knockturn Alley, however, was nothing like Diagon. While Diagon Alley was home to most of the things a wizard would normally require, one might only visit the narrow streets of Knockturn in search of something… _rarer_. He detested how people associated Knockturn Alley with dark magic, but it was hard to argue against that association, especially when a shop he walked past was selling venomous spiders, exotic poisonous plants and jinxed jewellery and artefacts while the fumes from an apothecary had him coughing all the way until he was at the end of the alley.

The formidable white marble façade of Gringotts, which had towered over its neighbours for over five hundred years, welcomed him as he ducked out of the alley. The weather was perfect for enjoying a pot of tea ( _or an ice cream cone!_ ) and relaxing under the sun as the plebeians rushed through the streets, trying to get to their jobs on time. Malfoys, of course, didn't have to worry about work.

Overlooking the eastern entrance to the Ministry, a little way down the alley to his left, was a café which served delicious little sandwiches with a wonderful cup of tea. Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, only two stores to his right, served the best ice creams in London; perhaps even the nation.

Leaning against a wall, Draco voiced out his options: "Tea or ice cream?"

"How about giving me some company instead?" a familiar voice called out to him.

"Pansy," Draco faked excitement.

"What a surprise to see you here," she bumped into the table as he got up and lunged in for a hug.

"Indeed," he drawled. "Tea at Parkinson Manor not good enough for you?" he questioned.

She followed his gaze back to the table she had been sitting at. "The company certainly is better here," she winked. Pansy seemed genuinely happy at having met him.

Draco groaned inwardly as she dragged him to her table. For the second time in less than an hour, somebody else had made his decision for him.

Uninterested in actually having some company, he ignored Pansy and focused his attention on the people passing through. Pansy made a face, clearly displeased. Nobody but Draco could have gotten away with ignoring Pansy Parkinson. Draco continued to carefully ignore the look Pansy was giving him. _She could pout all she wanted, but he wouldn't spend his day yapping!_

He recognised a few people among the crowds; some of them were his father's friends, others weren't. Father had taught him to keep up with the happenings of both those groups.

Draco noticed Corban Yaxley swagger down the Alley toward the ministry with another Auror labouring along behind, heaving as he tried to adjust the two suitcases he was carrying.

Yaxley caught his gaze and looked back at the other Auror, the smirked at Draco. "Noticed my little _probie_ , have you," Yaxley grinned.

"Didn't know they had given you your own team, Yaxley," Draco questioned.

Yaxley shook his head. "They haven't. He's yet to be assigned to a team, so I borrowed him for some work."

Draco raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"The bag on his right is filled with some literature from the library at the Ministry. Agatha told me of a few old volumes collecting dust which they wanted to get rid of, and I volunteered him for the job."

"The other bag," Pansy pointed.

Yaxley paused. "The less you know, lassie, the better."

His dismissive tone did not sit well with Draco. Pansy Parkinson was one of his closest – and oldest – friends. Draco noticed her shoulders drop at Yaxley's answer. While _his_ day was probably not going to get any better, he wouldn't allow _Y_ _axley_ to ruin it for Pansy.

"The other bag, Yaxley," Draco demanded. "What's in the other bag?"

Yaxley turned to stare at Draco. Draco glared back at Corban Yaxley. The younger Malfoy had indeed inherited his father piercing glare. Yaxley gave in.

"Supplies for _Him_ ," he said.

"See, now that wasn't too hard, was it," Draco smiled. He leaned forward in his seat and snapped. "Get lost now, Yaxley. Don't make my day any worse."

Yaxley gulped. "Yes."

Draco coughed. "Yes, _Mr. Malfoy_." Draco smirked. Power was intoxicating. He could see why the Dark Lord made it a point that everyone only use his title to address him. _Names_ , it had always been said after all, _are a source of power_.

Draco heard a loud groan. He turned to see the Auror on the ground, presumably having tripped. His eyes ran past the fallen Auror just in time to see Yaxley put away his wand. Draco looked at that man in contempt. _Power in the hands of the undeserving creates tyrants_. Seconds after they resumed on their way back to the Ministry, they had to stop once again. Corban Yaxley had tripped on his pants, which had, almost magically, pooled around his feet. By the time Yaxley had recovered, Draco had already turned toward Pansy and was having a sip of her tea.

"Never liked that man," Pansy grumbled.

"You do not like anyone," Draco pointed out.

She sat back in her chair and crossed her hands. "That's not true."

"Name five."

"Well, I like you, and I like my mother and my grandfather…"

"That's three."

"Daphne," she held up four fingers. "And… Susie," she said matter-of-factly. "That makes it five."

"Elves don't count."

"They do now," she glared at him.

Draco dropped the matter at that; he knew it would do no good pursuing the matter any further. Growing up with somebody offers a unique perspective into that person's life. Pansy and Draco were no exception.

Pansy was born only a month after Draco. Their mothers were really great friends. It wasn't a surprise then, that Pansy and Draco had spent a good part of their childhood together. Draco Malfoy had quickly built a façade for everybody around him – the necessity of which had been entrenched into the impressionable mind of the little boy by his father. Pansy was one of three people who had managed to get in before Draco's bulwark against the world had set it.

Pansy had adopted a different approach. Unlike Draco, who misled people into believing he was easy to read as an open book, Pansy made no efforts to build up appearances. She made it clear every time somebody tried to get too close: she didn't like people. She didn't want any more friends than she already had.

As he thought about it, he realised that in some weird way, Yaxley had managed to cheer him up. Draco leaned against the table and turned around to face Pansy. With his elbow on the table and his head resting on his hand, he questioned: "You here alone?"

Pansy nodded. "What about you?"

"Father has some work in the Alley."

"And then you're going somewhere."

Draco didn't respond. He just sat back into his chair. He couldn't tell her about their mission; about _h_ _is_ mission.

The Parkinsons sympathised with the Dark Lord's cause, but they were hardly a strong family in terms of numbers. Old Grandfather Parkinson was ailing. Last Draco had heard he could barely turn on his side without help. Pansy's father wasn't the strongest of wizards when it came to a duel, but that man had managed to get some extremely rare and important things across borders for the Dark Lord. He had inherited what was a failing business before turning it around into something successful. Over the years, the Parkinsons had maintained their distance from the Death Eaters, never overtly supporting the Dark Lord. Nonetheless, Parkinson had become an important name in their community.

Not important enough, however, to be informed about their activities.

After a while, he spoke up again. "France," Draco lied. "Father is trying to locate ancestral property. Perhaps even acquire it."

Pansy looked mildly surprised. "I wonder how it feels when you know your forefathers left you with properties in other countries."

"Nothing different," he admitted. While he had lied about where they were going, it was true that there were still a few Malfoy properties in France. Their branch of the family had outlived their main branch in France. What was left should now be theirs.

"Maybe," Pansy shrugged. She mirrored Draco, leaning back as she sighed. "The Parkinsons don't have a lot of property here, let alone outside." The Parkinson family consisted of Pansy, her parents and her grandfather. Her father had never seen the benefit of investing in properties.

"Draco," she whispered, leaning in abruptly. "There's a man staring at you from across the road."

He nodded and stole a look. A man, young by wizarding standards, stood across the street dressed in a slate grey muggle suit. As dozens of wizards and witches passed by him, he stood there like an oddity. No self respecting wizard would ever dress in purely Muggle attire. Draco nodded at that man, before turning around to look at Pansy. "That was Wilson from the Muggle Office."

The poor man had thought bad-mouthing his father would go unpunished. Especially considering he was working for the Ministry – and Cornelius Fudge was a dear friend of his fathers'. Lucius Malfoy had the man transferred to the Muggle Office and only a letter from the Minister himself had managed to quell his loud protests against the move. Fudge had made it clear: move or resign. Ever since that day, Wilson had steered clear of anything Malfoy.

The waitress' question brought Draco back to the table. "Some tea for you, sir?"

"No, thank you. I'm just giving my friend some company." Clearly displeased, the waitress only nodded. Draco reached into his coat and dropped a few galleons on the table.

"Always overpaying," Pansy shook her head. "What is it with you and waitresses?"

Draco was about to respond when he was distracted by a commotion across the street.

An Auror guard was pushing people away, making way for Madam Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement who was rushing through the Alley in a hurry. It wasn't uncommon to spot Madam Bones in Diagon Alley. Occasionally, even old Fudge came down to Florean Fortescue's for a scoop of ice cream or at the Leaky Cauldron for some ginger beer. It was highly unlikely though, that Madam Bones was rushing through the Alley for a drink.

Pansy took a look at the commotion and wondered aloud: "Where's she off to?"

"I don't know," Draco admitted.

His eyes followed Madam Bones as her entourage helped her navigate through the impossible crowds.

"But I intend to find out."

~oOo~

Reaching into the left pocket of his robe, he retrieved the rather thick letter he had received from Gringotts. A calculated toss and it flew across the room before landing on a small table in front of the window. An electric kettle chimed.

Silently moving to the bar counter, he hit a few buttons. The machine whirred and a double shot of espresso pooled into the cup under it. He reached for the kettle and poured the water into the cup. He took a sip.

"Ahh," a contented sigh passed his lips. He felt the weariness rush out of his muscles and he straightened his back, gently rolling both shoulders, loosening them after a sleepless night spent stooped over two heavy tomes and several smaller volumes.

Feeling alive again, he sipped some more, standing at the counter. _The letter is still going to be there_ , he reasoned. _Coffee takes precedence. It almost always does_. He smiled. In silent contemplation, he finished his first cup of coffee at the counter.

Walking back to the table with his second cup of coffee, stronger than his first, he set it on the table, his idle hands reaching for the letter instead. He had read it and reread it. Then he'd made the decision to not talk about the letter with anyone.

York knew about the letter, of course.

With York's help, he had managed to get hold of a few books which he thought pertinent to the matter at hand. The elves had then helped him shift the books to one of their properties in London. He had followed shortly.

As International Portkey and Apparation points were monitored by the Ministry, elves were most definitely the best method to travel undetected. It was also a better method of travel than the other two: it was neither dizzying like travel by Portkey nor did you arrive with an intense urge to throw up. Like everything, however, it had its own issues - not every elf had the ability or power to transport people across continents.

He had spent the night on the floor of the study, books spread around him as he sifted through pages of literature, until he had found enough to satiate him. _Never walk into a meeting empty handed_ , he had once been told. He had never forgotten that suggestion: the portfolio on the dresser was attestation enough. He glanced at the portfolio, then at the clock beside it and walked into the bath for a quick shower. He had an appointment to keep.

~oOo~

As the car slowed down to a halt, he closed the portfolio and gathered the files. Pinching a few inches above them, he shrunk the documents before pocketing them. He looked down and brushed off a few imaginary particles off his coat. His slight nod was signal enough for the chauffeur to open his door.

Although The Leaky Cauldron was a short drive from his house, he had never been there before. At first glance, The Leaky Cauldron wasn't going to be getting any accolades for design – and definitely not for maintenance. In its advanced state of disrepair, it was a depressing, uninviting sight.

A bell chimed as he pushed the door and walked in – and realised that, perhaps, the state of the pub was deliberately maintained thus. Plates of food flew across the room, spoons stirred coffees on their own while men wearing robes read newspapers with moving pictures, not to mention the pygmy heads hanging from windows and the items listed on the menu bobbed and shimmered, changing occasionally. The items themselves were quite a sight to read through: 'exploding lemonade' and 'pickled newt eyes' costing varying amounts of 'galleons' and 'sickles'. It didn't take him long to realize that they didn't want non-magical folks in there!

He stood out as an oddity among the wizards: they were dressed for about three centuries in the past. Ignoring the stares, he made his way past them and toward the rear where the door opened onto a courtyard with a brick wall.

He glanced at a piece of parchment he had pulled from his pocket, before looking back at the brick wall. Reaching with his finger, he tapped on the bricks lightly: centre, second to the left and three above, four columns across and finally the one under it. Then, he took a step back as he watched the bricks move away and he took in his first sight of Diagon Alley.

As he crossed the threshold into the alley, he felt something – an identification ward of some sort. With so many shops located in such close proximity, perhaps one of their wards had stretched a little farther out than their compound. He didn't give it much thought as he moved down along the alley, taking in the sights.

Diagon Alley was a hodgepodge of apothecaries, joke shops, Quidditch supplies, book stores and a few otherwise unmarked stores of varying sizes, arranged on either side of the street. A standard store size, it seemed, was too much to ask for. Then again, considering the conversion of 'galleons' to 'sickles' to 'knuts', rationale wasn't perhaps what the wizarding community was going for. He chuckled at that thought.

Flourish and Blotts looked very inviting. Only a glance inside showed him rows of books arranged on rack reaching as far up as he could see. There seemed to be several small stands with quick-reads, perhaps there was even some place to sit and read? If only he had the time to go in and search for something. He turned around and took a few steps then stopped. He had planned a visit to the ice cream store; maybe he could grab one of those quick-reads off the rack? Acting on that thought, he went in.

"Minister for Magic: Cornelius Oswald Fudge," he read under his breath as he stood in the line at the ice cream parlour. "Minister for Magic since February, 1990. Attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (House: Hufflepuff), batch of 1980. On completing his education ( _he was often described as a decent studen_ t), he joined the Ministry and was assigned to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Despite his rather average performance as a student, he excelled at the Ministry, by chance as well as talent. Within a year, he was a Junior Minister in the department, having skipped two positions to reach there.

"On the fateful night of Halloween in 1980, when the wizarding world was celebrating the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the hands of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, Cornelius Fudge was one of the first on the scene, and hence the first witness, to the brutal murder of one Peter Pettigrew, O.M. (First Class), and of thirteen muggles, who were murdered in cold blood by the notorious mass murderer, Sirius Black.

"In the subsequent hunt for You-Know-Who's followers, Cornelius Fudge's contribution helped him escalate the ranks until he became a prime contender for the post of Minister, following the rather public ousting of Millicent Bagnold. With Albus Dumbledore already handling the position of Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and choosing to continue his tenure as Headmaster of Hogwarts, his ( _vehemently_ ) expressed denial of becoming Minister, and the fall from grace of Bartemius Crouch Sr, following him sentencing his own son ( _a Death Eater, responsible for the attack on Frank and Alice Longbottom_ ) to Azkaban, Cornelius Fudge won the race to the post of the Minister for Magic.

"In the first five years of his term, Cornelius Fudge reduced the economic burden on the Ministry of maintaining a Hit-Wizard Corps, while diverting the funds to St. Mungo's, and increasing..."

"A pleasant morning to you, sir!" He looked up to see an aging man with a wide toothy grin. "What would you like to have?"

Having spent his time waiting in the line to read, he had not perused the menu. "It is my first time here," he informed the man. "Serve me your best!"

The man looked at him for a second, his head tilting to one side in silent contemplation. He snapped his fingers, turned around and got to work.

Daniel took a step to one side and watched in wonder as the man waved his wand incredibly fast between the ice cream tubs, syrups, sprinkles, cream and peanuts!

A minute later, he turned back and presented him with a large boat. He waved his wand and shot a few celebratory sparkles in the air above his sundae which spelled "Indulgence"

"May I present to you, sir, the Queen of Indulgence, a Florean Fortescue special!"

"Wow," Daniel mouthed. It looked positively scrumptious.

With much pomp and pride, he described his creation: "A scoop of Fortescue's Fruit Frenzy served in a ring of chocolate ice cream on a bed of vanilla and topped with caramel sprinkles and syrup, chocolate cream, dragon-flame roasted almonds and crushed peanuts!"

Daniel stood admiring the boat as it sat on the counter while ' _Indulgence_ 'still bobbed above. Tipping his head in acknowledgement, he picked up the boat and walked outside, finding an empty table overlooking the Alley. He put the book aside, focusing instead on the sundae in front of him. He spooned through all the layers before taking a bite.

A contended sigh escaped his lips as the smooth chocolate cream melted in his mouth, leaving behind the taste of caramel, nuts and chocolate ice cream mixed with the vanilla at the end!

It was quite a task to not dig into the sundae like any other man would have. The etiquette he was taught at the Palace along with reprimands from York from all those years ago stopped him. He blocked out the din of the Alley, stopped worrying about the meeting and almost forgotten to keep a check on the time. The ice cream was truly that sublime!

He was almost through the entire sundae when he saw three robed men make their way past the crowd. They walked in front of the crowd, before giving way to another woman. A woman, he recognised, thanks to the small book he had flipped through before he had purchased it.

She walked to his table and came to a halt a few feet from him. "Your Majesty," she addressed him. Then she bowed her head, instead of the more appropriate curtsy, before addressing him. Daniel's eyes narrowed as he realised he wasn't meeting with the woman, but rather the office she held.

"Please sit, Madam Bones," he gestured to the chair across from him before she had the opportunity to introduce herself. For a second, she just stood there, nonplussed. Recovering rather quickly, she slid into the chair.

Daniel scribbled a rune on the table with his finger before snapping his fingers. As the rune disappeared, a shroud of Magick covered them. Nobody outside the ward would be able to hear anything they said – and while it had a mild repelling charm, it wasn't strong enough to be noticeable: over time, the crowd would disperse too.

Daniel's eyes scanned the crowd almost as if he was searching for something. His gut told him something wasn't exactly right. _He shouldn't have been seen_. His eyes lingered over a spot. Finding nothing, they focused back on the director.

There was a hint of steel in his voice. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I apologise for the intrusion, Sir, but when you crossed into Diagon Alley unannounced…"

"You decided to barge in with a group of your Aurors? Do you realise how this looks, Madam Bones?"

"The Aurors are for your protection, Sir" she countered.

"Protection which I didn't need until you walked in and made me a target," Daniel said calmly. "I am here on personal business."

"Sir, you have to understand that-"

"I do not ' _have to understand_ ' anything, Madam Bones."

Daniel remained calm as the director narrowed her eyes, perhaps trying to come up with something to say. He was, however, in no mood to listen. He had an appointment which he was going to honour – where he went and what he did was nobody's business. One thing, however, bothered him.

"How did you know I was here?"

Madam Bones was quiet for a while, unwilling to divulge her secret. "When you entered the Alley, a ward scans the wands walking through. Your wand raised a flag and we have been using a form of the Trace to track you."

"Madam Bones," with his elbows firmly planted on the table, he leaned forward. "I do not appreciate being lied to." There was no 'Trace' on his wand; there never could be. When he had made his wands, he had spent hours carving several powerful rune sets into the wood. His wand could not be traced, followed or used to find him.

She paused for a moment. Under his formidable glare, however, she relented. "How secure are the wards you placed around us?"

"Extremely," he said, without missing a beat.

"I received an urgent message from Wilhelmsberg Palace," she informed. "It didn't say much, only that you would be in Diagon Alley today. I was requested to keep you company as long as you were here."

Daniel slumped back slightly. _Why was the Palace informing an official of the Ministry of Magic of his whereabouts?_

He turned to look at the alley. The crowd had almost completely dispersed. The Aurors stood guard, forming a perimeter around the wards, scanning the crowds.

He smiled a little. "As long as you're with me, nobody would question the Aurors giving us company."

Amelia nodded. "Yes sir."

When he went back, he would find out who sent that letter. He didn't like the protection detail – it drew too much attention toward him. It didn't seem like he had much choice, however: _his_ Palace had sent her the message. He pinched his fingers across his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Would you like some ice cream?"

When Madam Bones declined his offer, he had no reason to linger around at the ice cream shop. He enlarged a bag of gold he had brought along for his visit and scooped a handful coins to pay for his sundae. Judging by Madam Bones' expression, he was probably overpaying, but he didn't mind. He had loved the ice cream.

"Is the Ministry located here?"

Walking down toward Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Madam Bones had offered to tell him more about the Alley and the Ministry of Magic.

"The Ministry of Magic is located in London – but one of the entrances open up at the other end of the Alley," she informed. "A lot of the employees use that entrance to drop into the Alley for lunch."

She had been talking to him about the Wizengamot and the Ministry. He was surprised to learn that she, as the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was the final adjudicator in the government. Yes, the Minister could grant a pardon, but unless it was a case of abuse of power or an unfair trial, a pardon would most likely be tantamount to political suicide.

"This is it," he paused as they stood outside Gringotts Wizarding Bank.

"In that case, I think it is time I leave," she smiled.

Daniel nodded. "Thank you for the walk," he said. He would not apologise for the way he reacted when she had barged in on his sundae. However, he did find the talk most illuminating. "It has been most interesting talking to you, Madam Bones."

Madam Bones smiled back. She didn't get time during the day to just drop into the Alley for a stroll. It was something she thought she could make time for in her schedule. She watched as Daniel walked up the steps. He turned around and nodded in her direction.

He took a deep breath before pushing both doors open as he walked into Gringotts.

~oOo~

Shadowing a muggle was hardly a job for an Auror.

Dumbledore had owled her, inviting her to join Order of the Phoenix; she had written back, saying that she thought it an honour to be considered to become a member. She knew about the Order; though most of what she had heard about the Order came from her mother – who knew about the Order from cousin Sirius, who, along with his friends James, Lily and Remus, had been a member during the First War.

She visited Dumbledore at Hogwarts on Saturday, where she had been inducted into the Order. Oddly enough, she had received her first assignment that very evening. She had used an apparition point near the address and covered the remainder on foot.

Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody's mantra of 'constant vigilance' had taught her to study her surroundings. Under the cover of darkness – and a disillusionment charm –, she had walked around the property, found three spots where she could get a view into the house without being too close and on her way back, she had stopped at the nearby Underground station to study the time table of the trains passing through.

She was nothing, if not thorough. Unfortunately, however, the house seemed to be empty; the lights weren't turned on and it was eerily quiet. There was a two-car garage, although one of them was empty. She figured they might have gone out for the weekend.

Her assignment was simple: keep an eye, follow if necessary. Dumbledore hadn't been very forthcoming with details when he had handed her the assignment. He hadn't even told her whom she was supposed to be keeping an eye on. _"You'll find out soon enough,"_ he had said with a humorous twinkle in his eyes.

' _Soon enough_ ' had taken until Monday afternoon, when a second car had pulled up by the house. Using the back of a park bench to recline a little, she had her legs propped up on the seat and a book resting on them, while still maintaining a complete view of the house. She saw a woman get out from the driver side and a man from the other side; her focus, however, was on the girl who had gotten out from the second row. She recognised her. Hell, the _whole wizarding world_ probably recognised her!

After Hermione Granger and her family had all gone indoors, Tonks released a breath she didn't know she had been holding. _Hermione Granger!_ _Her assignment was Hermione Granger!_ Hermione had been all over the Prophet this year past and while Tonks didn't know most of the details, she knew how Hermione was really close with Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and that she had spent a lot of time last year with the Bulgarian Seeker, Viktor Krum. Rumour around the department was that she had finished her third year with the highest number of credits earned by a student at Hogwarts, in any year. Ever!

Of course, why Dumbledore would want to have Hermione followed was another matter altogether. She had an idea, although she couldn't be too sure. Apparently, Madam Bones had been called from office late one night, only a few days ago. When she had returned, somebody had overheard a few words of her conversation with her guards: ' _Missing', 'King's Cross'_ and ' _Harry Potter'_. If _she_ knew about it, she was certain Dumbledore knew about it too.

If Harry Potter was indeed missing – which would have been all over the Prophet, had it been worthy enough of a rumour – then Hermione Granger could be their best chance to locate him. The importance of this assignment had only just begun to dawn on the Auror.

As Tonks sat on the bench, she went over the past two days once more. No owls, no muggle post and nobody home to answer that thingy-which-rang. Shadowing Hermione Granger could only mean one thing: Dumbledore thought she could lead them to Harry Potter.

 _This wasn't just a stupid assignment after all!_

~oOo~

Harry had been waiting on a bench across from the Underground station, nearly half an hour before Hermione was to arrive. Knowing her penchant for being early, he had guessed correctly that she would arrive with a few minutes to spare.

Characteristically, she walked out of the station with twelve minutes until five. Harry had checked. Then he had smiled, clutched the book he was reading and walked toward her, his eyes never letting her out of sight. He then paused a few feet from her, all the while observing Hermione.

One hand held onto the sling near her shoulder while the other raced back and forth across the sling. She was scanning the crowds, occasionally checking her watch.

 _Who is she looking for?_ A thought raced through his mind: _Is she looking for me? Did she know I would be early too?_ He didn't know. "Hermione!" he called out.

"Harry!"

The Boy-Who-Lived barely managed to compose himself before Hermione barrelled into him and her arms wrapping around him in a bone crushing hug.

"Can't…breathe…" he strained.

Hermione's arms quickly found their way back to her side as she looked up sheepishly at Harry. "How long have you been waiting our here?" she looked around, wondering where he waiting for her – perhaps a café or a bench at least? She spotted the bench and his book.

He had been waiting for over a half hour. "Only a little while," he lied.

She stared at him, almost disbelievingly, but before she could call him out, a loud rumble broke through from his stomach.

"Let's get something to eat," he rubbed a hand lazily over his stomach. "There's a café nearby."

Hermione nodded and followed him. "How is Sirius?" she questioned.

"Shhh!" he turned around abruptly, a finger on his lips as he shushed her. " _Snuffles_ ," he said pointedly, "has a message for you." He raised a finger as she was about to interrupt him. "Wait till we are seated, Hermione. Not here," he scanned the area around them.

In his pocket was the piece of paper which held the secret to their _Fidelius_. Sirius had warned him to open the note only when they were in a more private setting, going so far as to suggest a little alley nearby where Harry could spend some 'quality time' with his 'girlfriend'. When Harry had pointed out that Hermione wasn't his girlfriend, Sirius winked suggestively: 'She's not your girlfriend _yet_ '. Of course, they could've come straight to Number 12, but Sirius had _insisted_ that he wasn't in a hurry to meet Hermione – not as much as Harry was longing to see his friend anyway. Furthermore, Sirius wasn't wrong when he suggested they spend some time together as friends, without him hovering around. Not to mention Kreacher. That the old elf wasn't exactly most welcoming to him was something Harry understood; but even Sirius wasn't safe from the caustic tirades of the creature – Sirius, who was not only a pureblood, but also his master! Only Merlin knew what nasty words that old elf would come up with when he found out about Hermione.

Unsurprisingly then, Harry had taken him up on the suggestion to visit the cafe. He was sure Sirius was trying to play matchmaker, and Harry wasn't about to complain.

"Here," he brought the note out of his pocket. He slid it across the table as a waiter hovered around to take their order. "Read it carefully and then give it back."

They ordered a couple of milkshakes for the both of them, but Hermione declined anything to eat. Harry requested a bacon sandwich. Hermione slid the paper back to Harry as the waiter went away with their order.

As she read the address, Hermione smiled. She was thinking about what Harry had confided in her at the end of their third year; when they had gone back in time to save Sirius. Finally, after so many years, her friend had had something to look forward to beyond Hogwarts and it was more than just a home: he finally had a _family_.

Her mind wandered to the other events that had unfolded that night, when they had confronted the rat for the first time. She had always regretted not doing something about Pettigrew when she had gone back in time with Harry. She knew she wasn't allowed to tamper with the past too much, but she could have followed that traitorous rat after he had escaped; followed and caught him. She could've even let Crookshanks loose on that bastard.

Meeting Sirius wasn't something she thought she could do right now, not with the guilt she felt every time she thought about his current condition: _if only she had done something more, Sirius would have been a free man today_.

More than Sirius, however, there was something else which had been troubling her.

"Harry," Hermione seemed anxious as she interrupted him. He had been going on about something – Hogsmeade, perhaps – but she hadn't been paying attention. Harry stopped to look at her, the green in his eyes sparkling with curiosity. She continued, "Harry, do you remember a few nights before the final task, when we were in the common room?"

Harry nodded for her to go on. There were quite a few things he remembered about that night. What, exactly, did Hermione have in mind?

"I had said that I would ask my parents, if we could come to get you during the summer," she waited for Harry to respond. When he merely nodded, she continued. "Well, my parents would be very happy to have you over for the summer."

Harry ought to have been elated to hear that, but for his observation: "You don't seem too happy about it, Hermione."

For a short while, Hermione was quiet. "Well, just before Hedwig arrived with your note, Dumbledore had come knocking, wondering if I knew where you were."

"That nasty old codger…" Harry grumbled. It was quite possible Dumbledore saw the note. "Did he see the note?"

"What? No!" she retorted, mildly outraged. "I wouldn't have come here if Dumbledore knew about it – not to mention that I still had Hedwig and I would have written to warn you."

Clearly, Harry was in the wrong here. He raised both hands in submission. "Apologies," he said but Hermione merely harrumphed.

"Anyway, as I was saying," she began, a pointed glare at Harry warning him to not interrupt her, "Dumbledore was there when Hedwig arrived. He had been there for a little time before she arrived; he was wondering if I knew where you were – which of course I didn't – and then he even asked if we had written to each other – and I told him I hadn't – but he continued to 'insist' and then my mum was there and she told Dumbledore off and –"

"I still don't understand why you sounded upset," Harry cut in, impatiently.

"Because then, I had to tell my mother everything!"

And now Harry fell silent. _Everything_? What did she mean by that? Everything about what? It still didn't explain why she was upset. Harry cut off any further thoughts. Speculation would get him nowhere.

He simply chose to ask her. "What does that mean?"

Hermione took a deep breath before releasing a weary sigh. It was going to be a long story.

"Every year, after I'm back from Hogwarts, we spend a weekend over at our cottage out in the country; it's sort of a family tradition," she explained.

The cottage had been in their family for several generations, the first mention of which was in the late seventeenth century. It wasn't a manor house with a bevy of butlers; it was only a gabled house with five bedrooms. They didn't own a lot of land around the house: a rather large pond marked the end of their property on two sides while a tree line circled along their limits on the other sides. Each year when school broke for the summers, the Grangers would drive down to the cottage for an extended weekend; with nothing much to do around the house, her father would spend time writing while her mother would pick up her easel and wander off, trying - and succeeding too, – in capturing as much of the nature as best as she could on canvas. This arrangement worked wonderfully for Hermione, who would pick a book from the bedroom that had been converted into a library (who really needs all five bedrooms anyway) and spend her day reading.

It was in really the evenings which they came together to enjoy each other's company. Hermione would talk to them about her school year; her parents would sit long into the night, letting her ramble on, trying to learn as much as they could from their daughter.

When Hermione began Hogwarts, her parents would look forward to the weekend as soon as Hermione left for Hogwarts after Christmas. Christmas and summers were, after all, the only ways they had where they could see their daughter grow.

"I didn't want them to worry; or worse, stop me from going to Hogwarts at all," she paused for a breath. "And so I hid the truth from them. My parents… well, I didn't tell them about Nicolas Flamel, the Philosopher's Stone or what happened between you and Professor Quirrell and… and Voldemort.

"I didn't think too much of it back then – I mean, it wasn't like _knowing_ about those things would really have affected them in a positive way. I wasn't hurt and neither were you; and so I never mentioned it once during the summers. Then the next year, when I almost died due to the basilisk, I contemplated all the way to the cottage whether or not I should talk to them about it."

"But you didn't," Harry stated simply.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know why I didn't tell them then, Harry."

"Telling your parents that you were petrified for days by a fifty-foot long magical serpent king found only in legends isn't easy," Harry pointed out. "It isn't something you have to do every day."

Hermione nodded, but continued: "I couldn't get myself to talk to them about any of it - not after our second year and not even after our third."

That's when Harry realised. "You told them everything in the last _two_ days." Hermione nodded, her eyes pooling up with guilt.

"Hey, Hermione," he reached for her hand, taking it into his own. "Hermione, you don't need to feel bad about this," he tried to console her.

"But maybe _that_ is why they want you to come over for the summer," she reasoned. "What if they grill you about our time at Hogwarts? It was painful enough for me to have to relive all the times we almost died in those four years – but for you…"

"If it's going to make things easier between you and your parents, I'll do it: hell, I'll even get them a Pensieve," Harry said without missing a beat. He knew Sirius wanted to know all about his Hogwarts years so far, only the poor man was too afraid to ask. "Snuffles wants to know about our time at Hogwarts too," he said after a short pause. "I might as well talk to them together."

Hermione nodded. "How is Si- Snuffles?"

"As good as a man who spent thirteen years surrounded by Dementors could possibly be, I suppose," Harry shuddered at the thought. His encounters with those vile creatures had made him intimately aware of the effects they had on a person. His godfather had spent _years_ surrounded by them. "He says the only reason he still hasn't gone insane is because he knew he was innocent. Each passing day, he would wait for somebody to come to take him to his trail…"

Hermione gasped at that thought. Waiting in that desolate place, and yet not giving up hope. Hope was a powerful emotion. The streetlights turned on for the night at that very moment. It was almost poetic.

"It is good to know he's opening up to you," she whispered.

Harry laughed a little. "Thank the emptied bottles of Firewhiskey."

Hermione looked at him sternly. "Harry James Potter, you had better not have been drinking."

"Hey!" he protested, mildly outraged and mildly amused at her reaction. "Firewhiskey isn't illegal." Any further escalation was avoided when their food arrived.

The next half hour flew by as they discussed muggle things: the latest Motorola that was to hit the markets, muggle music and their favourite shows on the telly. It was a pleasant change, when they realised their conversation had had no mention of Hogwarts or the wizarding world ( _or homework_ , as Harry had slyly pointed out, much to the annoyance of Hermione).

"Crap," Harry muttered under his breath as he checked his watch. It was almost six.

"What is the matter, Harry?"

He shook his head. "Snuffles made me promise we'd be home before six," he turned his hand around awkwardly so that the face of the watch was in her sight.

"How far is _t_ from here?"

"Ten minutes, a little less if we're brisk," said Harry as he crossed and entered the park. He had never been late at the Dursley's. Not after what had happened the first time that he had been late; and while Sirius was in no way comparable to the _Dursleys_ , he didn't want to disappoint his godfather.

"What if we go through here," he pointed to the thicket of trees which ran across the park. The path that had been laid through the park meandered to the other side almost lazily. If they went through the trees, it would save them time – enough time to get back home before six.

With an uncertain gaze, she looked at where he was pointing. "It doesn't look too dense," she noticed. "Almost like the Forbidden Forest." She took a look at his hopeful face and nodded. If it was so important for Harry to be on time, then she would do whatever was needed of her.

She squeaked as Harry took her hand in his and they went off the path and into the trees. He could see the streetlights on the street than ran parallel, and he checked it ever so often, to make sure he was going straight. They wouldn't have gotten lost, but had they been disoriented, it would've only eaten through the limited time they had.

The footfall, the snapping of the twigs and the chirping of the insects came to an abrupt halt. Hermione yelped bumped into Harry's shoulder. He quickly turned around to find her nursing her jaw.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Are you alright?"

Hermione nodded, though curious as to why he was whispering. "Listen," he said, almost as if he had read her mind.

And she did. At least she tried, but there was no sound other than a car honking on the street. Then it was silent again. Her eyes widened as she realised. _Why was it silent?_

Seeing the realisation on her face, "Exactly," Harry mouthed as he unholstered his wand. Hermione quickly reached into the bag and brought out her wand. She could feel something, but she wasn't sure what. _Were they being followed?_

A twig snapped behind her and she found herself pulled back as Harry put himself between her and the sound, his wand wandering in the general direction of the sound.

"Show yourself!"

Nothing happened. " _Invisibility Cloak!_ " Harry realised. ' _Was Hermione followed?_ ' he wondered. He felt Hermione move closer to him as he felt another wand from over his shoulder. If she was being followed, it would make sense to wait until they were alone to make a move. Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.

He scanned the area once more, hoping to catch the shimmer of the cloak. Whoever it was, if there _was_ someone, was good. "Something is not right," he whispered to Hermione. She nodded but didn't say anything. He felt her lower her wand.

A low hum permeated their surroundings and it suddenly became frigid. "Harry," Hermione called out. Harry turned around, his wand still at the ready. Hermione had walked away from him and was pointing her wand at something. He followed her line of sight when he noticed them.

"Dementors!" a third voice said from behind them.

"You!" Harry rolled on the balls of his feet, his wand zeroing on the pink haired witch dressed in black robes. "You brought them here," he accused.

"No," she hissed back fiercely. "They aren't here because of me – they're here for you," she looked over their shoulders pointedly.

"Who are you?" Harry yelled.

"Nymphadora Tonks," she shot back. "Now shut up and let me focus!"

Tonks pulled out her wand and tried to think of something that would fuel the patronus. ' _Shite!_ ' was the only thing on her mind and it wasn't helping! She cursed loudly. "Help!" she cried out before trying once again to think of a memory.

Now was not the time for him to focus on the woman who had been following them. He shut his eyes as he thought about the time Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup in his third year. It was what he had used the last time. As he focused on the memory, he felt his body charge up, euphoric.

That's when he heard Hermione scream.

Memory forgotten, Harry turned and found Hermione kneeling on the floor, a couple of Dementors surrounding her. Patronus forgotten, he ran to her, his arms flailing wildly as he tried to swat the creatures away.

His efforts bore fruit as the Dementors turned their attention to him instead. He shut his eyes and readied his wand to call on Prongs, when a chill ran through his bone. They were too close.

' _No!_ ' he yelled in his mind. ' _No, no, no, no, no!_ ' he yelled in vain as he found himself back in the crib, his mother's green eyes staring at him, a sad smile on her face. He tried to push those memories away.

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " as hoarse whisper escaped his lips but it wasn't strong enough to hold against three Dementors at bay. They were powerful. They were too close. The white wisp died out and he felt his hand impact with a stone on the ground as he lost the grip on his wand. He could feel his vision dimming, his mother's pleas ringing in his ears. He saw his mother begging before he saw a white wand. Then, in a blinding green light, he saw her drop dead. A lone tear streaked down his cheek.

On his right, Hermione was in a similar position, lying on the ground, shivering. He tried calling out to her, but nothing came out of his mouth.

The last thing he heard was a loud crack! Then, he was blinded.

* * *

A/N: Dun dun dunnn! Cliffhanger much?


	6. Chapter 6: Meeting

**Disclaimer** : I write for the joy of it.

 **A/N** : Still writing, this chapter's done though. Hope you enjoy :)

* * *

 **3** **rd** **July, 1995. Monday**

Daniel made his way through the atrium and into a labyrinth that would eventually take him to his meeting with the Director. Every step that took him deeper into the womb of the bank reinforced one thought: ' _That is just_ too _much gold!'_

He had noticed the gold inlaid in the Corinthian columns that held the huge glass dome above the atrium. The sunlight that came in through the glass glistened off the gold that was inlaid into the marble on the floor in wonderful geometric patterns, bringing them to life.

Venturing further into the labyrinth the amount of gold in the stone gradually increased, with the walls being carved with intricate filigree. By the time he stopped in front of a door, he wasn't certain if it was gold laid into the stone or the other way around. The tiles he was standing on certainly seemed to be pure gold, similar to the mosaic-tiled dome above that held the Gringotts Coat of Arms. It was magnificent, especially since the precious stones encrusted in the Arms shimmered in the flickering light of the torches on the wall.

The goblins dropped down to their knees as the door swung open. Director Ragnok, for the goblin standing in the doorway could be nobody else, walked toward him with a smile on his face. This particular goblin stood taller than the other goblin warriors who had accompanied him. He looked older than they did too.

The director stopped in his tracks and bowed, "Your Majesty, it is indeed my pleasure to welcome you to Gringotts."

"Director," Daniel smiled, giving only a curt not in response, before holding out his hand for the goblin. Daniel nearly missed the surprise on Ragnok's face which was (almost) expertly masked, when he had been offered the hand.

The goblins saluted their leader, before turning around and marching back. Ragnok then proceeded to usher him into his office. Taking seats on opposite sides of the table, Daniel allowed the goblin to begin the dialogue. He was, after all, the one who had requested this meeting.

Ragnok, it seemed, was expecting this. He began, "Please allow me to offer my condolences."

Daniel thanked the goblin leader and accepted the sentiments offered with a nod.

"Gringotts looks like no other establishment I have ever seen; I must say that it is the most tasteful display of wealth I have ever seen at a bank."

"Gringotts is more than just a bank, Sir," the goblin smiled. "The bank is what the wizards see; Gringotts is the entire goblin nation."

Daniel was surprised to know this. "A goblin nation which has been hidden from the wizarding world quite successfully," he realised. Not one book had bothered to explain about the existence of a goblin colony under the bank. Then again, he had barely found a few dozen pages on the bank.

A feral smirk adorned Ragnok's face as he said proudly, "Gringotts is the largest subterranean goblin dwelling in the country – and one of the largest in the entire world!"

Daniel's eyebrows shot up at this revelation. "It seems there is indeed much more to Gringotts than meets the eye; quite literally too. Gringotts has intrigued me, Director."

Ragnok understood the thinly veiled request. This was monumental for the goblin, for several reasons. He thanked Daniel for it and invited him to visit the goblin world at his convenience.

"Now, if it is alright with you, sir, I would like to get straight to the matter at hand," said Ragnok as he sat up straight. He took a deep breath before he voiced his question.

"What do you know about The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?"

~oOo~

 **5** **th** **July, 1995. Wednesday**

"Come now, Draco, it isn't that cold."

Draco ignored his father. "Bloody weathers' frozen my balls off," he mumbled as he trudged behind his father.

"I certainly hope that is not the case, Draco," his father shot back smoothly. "It is unfortunate enough that the future of House Malfoy was in your hands – another shoe, it seems, you're going to be inadequate to fill."

Draco was disappointed the wind had carried what he had mumbled to his father. He just continued the hike. It was quite foolish, if he'd been asked about it – of course, his father wasn't about to do that.

Wiltshire got really cold in January. Hogsmeade became freezing during Christmas. Draco didn't think it could get any chillier than the Slytherin dungeons in the height of winter.

Clearly, he was mistaken.

Sometime in his third year, he had given up cursing Salazar Slytherin for housing the snakes in the dungeons. Right now, he was willing to take to task whichever idiot thought it was a good idea to build a bloody school only an arm's length from the _bloody North Pole_!

He would've even stopped whining about the cold, if only they had managed to get their hands on that slimy little bastard. Hunting Igor Karkaroff was proving to be a challenge. His father had been no better.

"Are you sure you know where we're going?"

Lucius stopped in his tracks. "You think you're a better navigator than I?" he sneered. Without waiting for an answer, Lucius continued walking.

Draco held back a sigh as his head fell back in frustration. Then he continued walking. After another quarter of an hour, _thankfully_ , he could see a cabin up there; he could see the dim yellow of the gas lamps. As he drew nearer, faint music hit his ears. _Muggle_ music – for no self-respecting wizard would ever play… whatever the fuck it was that was playing.

His father had stopped a little way from the cabin, calming his breath. Draco had to hold back a chuckle at that. The man simply refused to act his age sometimes.

"Petrov's Corner," Draco pointed as the translation spell helped him read.

"Your ability to point out the obvious is astounding," his father drawled.

Ignoring his father, Draco continued, "It's too early."

"Like I said, astounding," his father said, glancing at his watch. "We wait."

Draco nodded and began walking toward the cabin.

He had only managed a couple of steps when his father questioned: "Where do you think you're going?"

Draco didn't turn around. "Inside," he said nonchalantly.

"Perhaps the cold _has_ addled your brain," he shot back. "I said we will ambush Karkaroff when he comes here."

" _IF_ he comes here," Draco was irritated. "He spotted you yesterday, father!"

"I took a shot at him."

"And you missed. You would be dead if I hadn't fired at that traitorous bastard!"

"He left his wand hand behind, Draco," his father hissed, "Igor Karkaroff is as good as a muggle." Lucius then chuckled as he said, "I know what I am doing." Draco was sure the last part Lucius said was meant to assuage the man himself, more than it was for him.

Draco opened his mouth to say something, but bit back his comment. Antagonizing his father wouldn't solve their problem. "I am going in," his voice made it clear he wasn't going to be dissuaded.

"A finger of the good stuff," he barked as he slid onto the chair at the bar. The man looked at him suspiciously and Draco raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"I'm sorry I would rather like to see some ID." _That translation spell was good_ , Draco mused.

Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch. He slammed the pouch on the bar and shot the man another look. "That ID enough for you?" he asked. Draco then had to stifle a laugh as the bartender took a peek into the bag and his eyes widened in surprise, before he looked at Draco and muttered "Only the best for you, sir!"

His throat burned as he downed the glass and he felt his body react to the liquid. "Another," he croaked and looked at the golden liquid in the glass. "Liquid gold," he whispered as he downed his second glass too. He felt a little woozy as the liquid reached his head. He shook his head and tried to blink it away. It didn't work.

As he cradled his third glass, there was one thing he was certain of: His father could be a stupid bastard sometimes. If there was ever somebody to blame for how the mission was progressing, it was his father. _Stupid, arrogant, self-centred git!_ He found himself back in Diagon Alley, as his thoughts drifted to their mission so far…

* * *

 _ **3**_ _ **rd**_ _ **July, 1995. Monday**_

 _Seeing Madam Bones sitting on the table, Draco tried to get a good look at the person she was meeting. As he tried to find a better angle, he had come upon a sudden feeling to go back to Pansy and to keep her company. It didn't feel like a compulsion charm; it left more like a nagging feeling. He couldn't explain it but he couldn't shrug it off either._

 _Pansy was still there, playing with her spoon. She looked genuinely surprised to see him return so quickly. "What happened?"_

" _I don't know," Draco shrugged. Pansy looked at him weirdly but didn't say anything. He slid into the chair he had been occupying. They spoke a little about her life, and her future. He had heard that her father was searching a suitable suitor for her. Whether_ his _father was a part of these negotiations, he wasn't sure. He wasn't even sure_ if _he wanted his father doing this. Then the conversation had died down and they had spent time in each other's company. Silently._

 _Lucius Malfoy had arrived a little while after and Draco had followed him into a small alcove near the entrance to Knockturn Alley before they had portkeyed away._

" _Where are we?" Draco questioned, for they were certainly not in Britain. 'Finland', he had received as answer._

" _Finland?"_

" _Did I stutter?" his father shot back._

" _What are we doing in Finland?"_

 _His father replied with a grin, "Hunting Igor Karkaroff."_

 _Lucius Malfoy was one of the Dark Lords best people. That glint Draco saw in his father's eyes when he said that sent a shiver down his spine. He followed his father into a restaurant where they chose a table by the window, overlooking the street. His father had waited for their lunch to be served before throwing up wards all around them._

" _What I am about to ask you, you will not repeat beyond present company. Once you are in, you cannot back out from this," his father began. He paused a second. "I want to know if you're ready."_

 _Draco was sure he was ready. But he took a second to consider what he was being asked here. Perhaps he wasn't sure; and his father sensed this. "There will be no shame if you sit this one out, I'll even tell the Dark Lord that you helped in your own way."_

 _And for the first time in all his years, he saw for once, what he had never imagined to see in his father: fear._

 _All animals are inherently born with fear. Fear in the face of imminent danger; danger of losing somebody you lo… Draco didn't know how to deal with this. For Draco, his father had always been the epitome of power; suave and polite in public and yet even his words could have more venom than a fucking cobra._

 _Unfortunately, Draco wasn't aware of what had happened at the Manor, only a few days ago. He didn't know his father had seen his son, his_ only _son, drop dead right in front of his eyes. He didn't know that his mother had cried her heart out at the thought of losing her child. He didn't know that in that one moment, Lucius Malfoy would have died trying to avenge his son's death._

 _Unaware of where his father was coming from, Draco hissed back, "I am a Malfoy, father. We are always ready." Draco flinched in surprise at what he saw colour his father's face: disappointment. He didn't know why, but right then, he felt as if he had given the wrong answer._

 _In a second, gone was Lucius Malfoy, the father and Draco found himself looking into the eyes of Lucius Malfoy, the Death Eater: determined, composed and dangerous._

" _We know for sure that Igor Karkaroff is here in Helsinki. He has been holed up at Durmstrang Institute all this time and word's been out that there were some rare artefacts he was willing to procure from inside the castle for a price._

" _We believe he needs the money to get out of the country, perhaps even across the world. If he leaves here, our chances of finding him are slim. He could be anywhere. A little island in the Pacific where there is nobody who will rat him out, or a large magical settlement, perhaps in the States, China or India where there are just too many people for anyone to notice him."_

" _Or he could be in Britain, where nobody would think of searching for him," Draco pointed out._

" _I thought of that possibility, but it is a huge risk: he was in Britain only last year. Unless Karkaroff wishes to live with_ muggles _," his father spat, "I don't believe he will risk his life thus."_

 _Draco nodded as he thought about what his father had said. While it looked like a good idea to hide in Britain, with the events of last year had his face plastered all over the Prophet; it would be hard to not be caught._

" _I have asked an associate of mine to set up a meeting with Karkaroff," his father continued. "The Durmstrang Institute is well known amongst those in our circles to posses some of the best books on the Dark Arts. One of those books, it is said, was written by Merlin himself!"_

 _Draco perked up when he heard that. "_ Merlin _wrote a book on the_ Dark Arts _?"_

" _Those were different times, Draco," a little irritation creeping into his voice as he said that. "Magic is magic – the 'Dark Arts' as we know it, was a term coined during the time of Salazar Slytherin."_

 _Draco's face clearly showed his amazement at that. "So this associate will ask Karkaroff for the book?"_

 _Lucius shook his head. "I have been working on this for a little while now and today Karkaroff is going to deliver on his promise."_

" _Father," said Draco as a thought occurred to him, "If we pay Karkaroff today, will it not be_ us _who would be funding his escape plan?"_

" _Not going to happen," his father shook his head. "We have paid Karkaroff a token amount, a couple thousand galleons, but the rest of his 'fees' will be paid after delivery and authentication. You can hardly just give away seventy thousand galleons for something counterfeit."_

" _Seventy_ thousand _galleons!"_

" _It will make for a wonderful present to the Dark Lord," Lucius stated simply._

 _Draco gaped at his father's words. He didn't know what to say: from where he stood, seventy thousand galleons for a book, albeit one which was to be given as gift to the Dark Lord, made absolutely no sense. It was like throwing away money!_

 _Then, Draco noticed something._

" _Karkaroff is here," Draco informed his father. His father nodded and shrugged off his coat. He paid for their meal and then leaned forward._

" _Here's what we are going to do…"_

 _Draco saw as Karkaroff was handed a note by the waiter. The note, Draco knew, would inform Karkaroff that the man he was supposed to meet would be arriving late, perhaps late by more than an hour. Karkaroff crumpled the note into a ball before setting it on fire. He called out in a language Draco didn't recognise, perhaps Russian – or Finnish._

 _Draco was leaning on the wall outside the restaurant they had been eating in, directly across from the street – and from Karkaroff. Under a disillusionment charm, Draco had been ordered to observe. He was not to intervene until absolutely necessary._

 _Two men rose from a table nearby and approached Karkaroff. Karkaroff, in turn, barked something at them. The two men nodded, reached for their wands and took position on either side of Karkaroff. Draco got a good look at all three people. Igor Karkaroff looked like a scraggy mongrel; his time after Hogwarts had certainly not been very good to him. The man closer to him reminded Draco of Crabbe – or Goyle; it could've been either of those two idiot lumps since they didn't have very much differentiating them. Fake-Crabbe, as Draco had decided to identify that man, was looking in his direction, his tattooed hands folded across his body as he continued looking for… well, whatever he was looking for. The man on the other side looked rather scrawny for hired muscle; Draco figured he was perhaps a good wand._

 _Lucius Malfoy walked out of the restaurant and into the street, his wand already drawn as he stunned the two bodyguards before they knew what was happening. What Draco's father did next, however, left Draco wondering if his father had lost it: instead of stunning that traitor, his father stood at the table as he stared down at Karkaroff, a smirk playing on his face as his wand was pointed right between Karkaroff's eyes._

 _Draco's wand was in his hand, ready should the need arise. In hindsight, he would realise that he should have acted faster. He didn't do anything until it was almost too late. In his defence, however, shit hit the fan pretty darn fast. Too fast for his liking._

 _Malfoy Senior, it seemed, had underestimated the gaunt ex-Headmaster; Igor Karkaroff's had sneaked his wand into his left hand. Karkaroff quickly revived fake-Crabbe who shot a_ Bombarda _as soon as he came to. While the curse never reached Lucius, the edge of the table took the curse, and Lucius yelled in agony as pieces of the broken table caught him in the arm. Only years of experience at this made sure that Lucius didn't loosen his grip on his wand._

 _Karkaroff was on his feet. He swung his wand in a wide arc, a cutting hex, aimed for Lucius, who merely swatted it away with his other hand. He raised a shield against the bludgeoning hex sent by fake-Crabbe. Then, Lucius banished the table at Karkaroff who was sent flying by the impact. Lucius focused his attention on fake-Crabbe, who had already sent through a barrage of spells. Draco only recognised the disarming charm amongst them. Lucius swiftly moved away from the path of the spells, ducked to avoid one of the strays, and then hit the man with a killing curse. Fake-Crabbe dodged it, but didn't hesitate even a second before he sent one back in return._

 _Meanwhile, Karkaroff had managed to pull himself from under the table. His face was covered in blood; a pretty large splinter was sticking out from under his left eye. He used one hand to cover the eye before he took aim at Lucius Malfoy._

"Avada Ked _-" the former headmaster was cut short as he was caught on his shoulder by a Bone-Breaker Curse. Igor Karkaroff howled in pain as he was jerked to one side by the power off the spell. Draco Malfoy had just joined the fight. His father shot another cutting curse. This time, it left a deep gash in his right leg while managing to slice off Karkaroff's hand cleanly a little above his wrist._

 _Fake-Crabbe was surprised at the sheer ferocity of the Bone-Breaker Curse; when he couldn't locate the source of the curse, he sent a few bludgeoning hexes in the general direction of Draco before apparating away. While it was probably the best course of action for the man, it made Draco realise something which made him want to smack his face: His father hadn't put up anti-apparition wards!_

 _Still disillusioned, Draco fired a curse at Karkaroff, who parried it toward Lucius; only Lucius' battle-earned reflexes managed to get him to duck in time. Seeing his spell almost hit his father, Draco faltered. Igor Karkaroff took advantage of this and portkeyed away._

" _You let him get away!" Lucius hissed angrily as he felt Draco approach._

 _Draco stopped in his tracks. "I let him –_ I _let him get away!" he was livid. "_ You _forgot the wards._ You _decided to taunt him when you could've stunned that bastard and we would've been done here tonight! It is_ your _fault they escaped. All we have to show for_ your _little plan is this mess and that fucking little stump," he pointed to where Karkaroff's right hand had fallen, still clutching his wand._

 _Lucius looked startled at that outburst. He didn't say anything about it. With a smirk, he pointed out, "Not all of them escaped."_

 _The father-son duo apparated away; they were in the woods. Lucius dropped the man on the ground rather unceremoniously._

 _For the next thirteen hours, there were only two things that would be heard louder than the collective noise of the woods. A man, who had a family and seven daughters to feed, begging for death; and said man's screams which echoed, for death was too busy to visit him then._

 _If one were really close to the source of those noises, however, one would've heard the conversation between two men who stood above the naked man as he writhed in pain in the snow. Were anybody to hear them speak, they would most likely hear but one word._

"Crucio! _"_

* * *

 **5th July, 1995. Wednesday**

Almost an hour had passed and Draco had left the rather uncomfortable chair behind the bar and had made his way to an extremely alluring one by the fireplace. He had dialled down on the alcohol and replaced it with hot chocolate. As he warmed his extremities by the fire, he thought that that was the best decision he had made today.

That day, after hours of what his father had called a ' _learning experience_ ' for Draco that man had given up the name of this bar. He claimed that he didn't know much about Igor – the first time he had met him was the previous night when he had accepted a hundred galleons in exchange for a few hours of his services. It wasn't the best of rates, but with a family of nine people to feed, 'something is better than nothing' is not just proverbial. The man had naturally jumped at the opportunity.

Draco had also learned quite a few things about that man, neither of which he cared to remember beyond a few weeks' time. The man was called Aarne and he had worked as an Auror with the Finnish ministry before becoming a victim to downsizing. When his family had burned through their savings, Aarne had met a man who knew a man who had a friend who was interested in helping him. _That_ is how he had come across an entire industry of providing security to interested parties; and that is how Aarne had begun his new life.

How Aarne had breathed his last, was a different issue.

Draco pulled out his wand and studied it. He had felt something change in the woods. The Hawthorn wand, only a whisker larger than his… he paused; he had to stop comparing wands. ' _Hawthorn, with unicorn hair, ten inches… reasonably springy,_ ' Ollivander had said. He remembered that day as if it was only yesterday, when he had first held the wand. The wand had always been good to him; it was reasonably powerful, extremely compliant but something about it didn't seem right to Draco sometimes.

Right now, it was positively pulsing in his hand.

He had no doubt that the first Cruciatus Curse that he had cast had had a lasting effect on his wand. Things were promising to be… interesting.

Draco surveyed the little establishment. There were exactly four people in there, including him and the bartender. Draco's eyes narrowed as he observed the two other people there; they seemed to be engrossed in a deep conversation, occasionally laughing, swatting each other in the arm affectionately. Draco would wager another bag of gold that the two blokes were a couple.

Looking at them, Draco reflected on _his_ love life: a rather non-existent one. Well, that wasn't completely true.

His year had only four girls. Since he had grown up with Pansy, they were extremely comfortable with each other's presence but he had never pursued a relationship with her – and not due to a lack of trying on _her_ part. Next, Daphne Greengrass was not one to be trifled with. Draco had always wondered if her parents knew she would turn out as icy as she had: it would explain why they had named their daughter after a plant genus, all species of which were poisonous. But like everything that is forbidden, her allure had started to grow on Draco in the past few months. She was, in Draco's opinion, the best thing to ever set foot in the Slytherin girls' dormitory. Had his approach at courting her not been cut short by a betrothal contract, Draco would've looked forward to spending this Christmas with Slytherin's Ice Queen under him. That left Bulstrode or Davis and it wouldn't do for a pureblood scion like he to be seen with the likes of those two. Until the end of the year, his prospects looked extremely bleak.

That was until he had received his present for his fifteenth birthday, belatedly of course. Draco was sure he was _never_ going to be able to forget that night. Neither would he be able to forget the rather long weekend that had followed.

Sadly, this tiny establishment in the middle of nowhere offered no opportunities. The hot chocolate, however, was wonderful. He raised his hand to order another cup, when the bell hanging from the door rattled. Hot chocolate by the fire, lots of snow; perhaps Christmas had come early this year. It certainly had for Draco.

A very drunk Igor Karkaroff had just limped into the bar.

~oOo~

 **3** **rd** **July, 1995. Monday**

" _Now, if it is alright with you, sir, I would like to get straight to the matter at hand," said Ragnok as he sat up straight. He took a deep breath before he voiced his question._

" _What do you know about The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?"_

Daniel took a moment to ponder the question and decide how much of what he knew he wanted to reveal to the goblin leader. "The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?" he echoed. "Only that they are wizarding Britain's oldest family."

" _One_ of her oldest families," Ragnok corrected, "A similar claim can be made by the Longbottoms, the Greengrass, the Bones, Ollivanders and the Macmillans."

Daniel nodded. "Then I know that they are _one_ of Britain's oldest families," he corrected smoothly.

"The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black is one of the five houses which built the foundation of the wizarding world as we know it. The Blacks and the Longbottoms were at the top of the landed gentry; and along with the Notts, Andrews and the Bones families, they owned more land than all the other families combined. Ceres Black was the convener of the first Wizard's Council and together with Liam and Anne Longbottom, they wrote the Wizarding Charter for the Magical Kingdom of Britain – a document which has become the fundamental of the document that is used now in the Wizengamot.

"The current situation of all these houses is quite a sad story. The Notts have begun to suffer the consequence of inbreeding while the Bones and Longbottom families are down to two people each – and in the case of heiress Bones, the house stands to be merged with the house she marries. The Andrews have already merged with several families over the years, and it is quite a feat that we have the entire lineage mapped. Cost us a small fortune to get there, but I dare say it is worth it. The wizards do not realise, nor do they appreciate, that we have preserved for them a part of their history!

"But you," Ragnok smiled at Daniel. "You need only to know about the Blacks," he said as he picked a small wooden box and placed it across the table, in front of Daniel.

Daniel studied the box, but didn't touch it. He may not have been as natural at ' _feeling_ ' Magick as Sarah was, but he could feel the box pulse with Magick as soon as it was placed close to him. Carved into the wood were a coat of arms; three golden ravens on a background of silver, under a wand-wielding gauntlet in black. His eyes zoomed in on the motto.

" _Toujours Pur_ ," he whispered, "Always Pure."

While Daniel had been studying the box, Ragnok had pulled out a letter from an envelope. "As Director of Gringotts, I do not handle the vaults of families or individuals. That was until I met a man who convinced me to collaborate with him for the mutual benefit of Gringotts and House Black. Ever since then, our investments have borne wonderful fruits; until one day, only a few years ago, I got a visit from an angry member of the family, ordering me to shut down all Vaults.

"I waited a couple of days for my friend to stop this madness, but when he didn't say anything about it, I believed he had indeed sent the request and I had to agree with it. I transferred over the accounts to a manager for the necessary procedure to close their business. I have stayed away from the wizarding world since that day, thinking my friendship had been betrayed."

He unfolded the letter, "I must admit I was wrong." He paused a while as he skimmed through the letter once more. It was this same letter which had prompted him to take over the Black accounts once more – and to send the letter to Daniel.

"This letter here is from the last Head of House Black," he waved the letter in his hand. "While it is a very personal letter, it did contain some business I needed to attend to with haste: to locate his successor to the headship of the house," he stared pointedly at Daniel.

"No," Daniel shook his head as soon as he realised where the goblin was going with this. "This has to be a mistake."

"You can feel the Magick from within the box call out to you," Ragnok had been observing the wizard when he had been inspecting the box. "All you have to do is to reach out yourself."

Daniel didn't know what to do as he found himself in a situation where his brain told him to get the hell out of this place, but his Magick was unquestionably against that decision; it had sensed something here and he could feel his Magick react to the Magick radiating from the box.

"Are you saying that I am a Son of House Black?"

Ragnok opened his mouth to answer, but remembered something from Arcturus' letter. "I am sorry, but I am forbidden from revealing any more about it to you. All I am at liberty to say is," he held the letter in his hands as he read through and found the relevant section before quoting: "The Black Magick has chosen its successor; and Magick will get what it is owed."

Daniel smiled as he heard Ragnok quote. He had heard the last part of the phrase before. _Magick will always get what it is owed_.

"If you will give me a minute," Daniel said as he closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders, feeling them relax. He took a deep breath and turned his focus inward. He called forth _his_ Family Magick which reacted instantly to his call. He found himself back in the forest.

 _A burst of white light blinded him for a second, before he heard a voice, "You called me forth, son." He looked around and spotted the wolf. The wolf had always represented House Jäger. He had been visited by the wolf for the first time when he was three days old. Of course, he didn't remember it. The earliest encounter he remembered was on the day before his coronation. Ever since that day, he had tried in vain to search more about that particular wolf. It was larger than any species he had encountered, but it wasn't disproportionately big. The wolf seemed oddly perfect._

" _I need your help," he said. "I have before me a box, a box whose Magick calls to me from within."_

 _The wolf walked toward him and sniffed him. "What seems to be the problem then?"_

" _The Magick feels powerful, even malicious; and yet when I reach out to it, I feel no malice directed toward me."_

" _You haven't spoken to it yet," the wolf surmised. "You want me to be present, in case things go wrong."_

"It is always better to be safe _," Daniel shrugged._

" _A wise choice, son," the wolf smiled. "Call it forth."_

 _He closed his eyes as he beckoned the Black Magick to make its presence felt. The forest in front of the wolf grew dark and as black as it could get; and from that, the darkness formed a raven. It hopped a little toward the wolf. Daniel snapped his fingers and a small shrub grew nearby. The wolf turned questioningly at him._

' _Letting a potential enemy so close?' he heard the wolf's question in his head._

' _I don't sense any danger.'_

' _And you shouldn't, my Liege,' the raven piped._

" _You can hear us!" Daniel was surprised._

" _I can hear you, but your Magick doesn't run through me," the raven said. "My Magick runs through your veins."_

 _The wolf growled at this. "The child has commands the House Jäger for years now, following in the steps of his father; and his father before him."_

 _The raven trilled a melody. "He will be one of the few who command the Magick of two houses," it said. "My Magick shall pass through a daughter of my house after centuries."_

" _Theodora renounced her family before she married into my house," the wolf shot back._

 _The raven smiled sadly. "I didn't give her leave."_

 _The wolf was silent for a while. Then it turned towards Daniel. "If that is the case, I leave it up to you, son. The Raven needs you."_

 _Daniel had been watching the interplay between the two family Magick totems. He felt like he had been put on the spot as both of them turned to look at him intently. He felt the hope radiating from the raven._

 _Ragnok's words echoed in his mind:_ Magick will get what it is owed _._

 _Daniel nodded his agreement._

" _Welcome to House Black, child of Cassiopeia," said the Raven before she left the shrub and flew straight into Daniel._

He felt the jolt and when he opened his eyes, he was back in Gringotts. Ragnok was still there and the box was still levitating in front of him. He opened his hand to reach for the box and it flew into his hand.

"The Black Magick seems to have accepted you," Ragnok sounded pleased as he felt the room react to the surge of Magick as Daniel put on the Black family ring on his right index finger. A halo formed around his being; purple and black, as the Magick of both houses mingled within his being. Then, as suddenly as it had formed, the halo was gone.

"It is my pleasure to congratulate you, Lord Black."

The next hour flew past discussing the affairs of House Black.

"Financially, House Black survived the war rather superbly," said Ragnok as he slid across a ledger with the current balance in the vaults. Ragnok allowed Daniel to flip through the ledger before continuing. "Gringotts has had to close the personal vaults of Pollux Black, Orion Black and his brother Cygnus. All three vaults had been emptied in one single transfer totalling a little over a seventy million galleons.

"The vaults of Cassiopeia Black were active until six years ago when she requested that they be merged with the Family Vaults.

"The vaults of Dorea Potter née Black and Lucretia Prewett née Black were merged with those of the Potter and Prewett families per their wishes. Dorea's husband requested their vaults be shut down shortly after the merger. Both of them relinquished any claims on the Black family vaults by themselves or any future members of their families. The Prewett family merged into the Weasleys following the death of both male heirs in the war through their daughter Molly who married Arthur Weasley. The Weasleys are a family of seven children none of which can claim anything from the Black vaults. Dorea Black-Potter had one son, but having shut down the vaults, we no longer felt the need to monitor her and as such, we don't know anything more about her or her son. All we know for certain is that she passed away almost two decades ago. The Potter line is survived by the grandson of Fleamont Potter, brother-in-law to Dorea.

"Excluding the personal vaults of Bellatrix Lestrange née Black, Andromeda Tonks née Black, Narcissa Malfoy née Black, daughters of Cygnus Black and Sirius Black, son of Orion Black, the current amount in the vaults in coin is what you see on the ledger there. Bellatrix Lestrange née Black has chosen to maintain a separate vault even after she was contracted in marriage to Rodolphus Lestrange. Narcissa Malfoy née Black has chosen to follow her eldest sister and she too continues to maintain a separate vault. The personal vault of Regulus Black was merged with the Black Family Vault following his death.

"Gringotts' last estimate of the other items and valuables stored in one of your vaults is a little over three hundred million galleons, although those prices have been calculated almost two decades prior and the rates have certainly taken a turn for the better. Should you request it Gringotts will be happy to conduct a new audit with the current rates."

He quickly checked the ledger and saw that the estimated value Ragnok had mentioned was already a part of the ledger. "That is a lot of galleons," Daniel whistled.

"The Black Vaults have been collecting interest for over half and one millennia," Ragnok said matter-of-factly. "That is only an estimated statement of the total gold in your vaults. This," he said as he placed another ledger on top of it, "is a list of all investments currently made by the Black Family."

Daniel nodded as he shut both ledgers and shrunk them before he put them in his pocket. He would go through the ledgers when he was back at the Palace. Until then, there seemed to be nothing he wished to change about the way his money was being handled. The goblins seemed to be doing a good job anyway. While all this talk of money was important, Daniel would rather know more about the people that made up this family.

Sadly, Ragnok seemed to be on a roll. Seeing Daniel put the ledgers away, Ragnok quickly brought forth a roll of parchment, which he unrolled to show a hand-drawn world map. He stuck the corners of the map to the table, making sure the paper didn't roll back; Ragnok then began to describe the map.

He pointed to the several dots all over the globe which represented properties owned by the Black Family. He studied the map quickly; other than the three properties in England and one each in Wales and Scotland, there seemed to be a handful of properties in Europe, a few in Asia and the States and an island in the Pacific. Ragnok then went into detail about using the map.

To view a property, all he had to do was tap the dot with his wand. What happened next was ingenious. The world map would dissolve into the blueprints of the selected property while a box in the lower right corner gave all relevant details of the property. If he were to tap the blueprint twice, a three-dimensional view of the property popped up above the map. This view also showed all the people currently in the property. This entire map was the result of some extraordinary Charms-and Rune-work by one of the Black ancestors three centuries ago. Belatedly, Daniel realised that whoever made this was also _his_ ancestor.

"Tell me more about my mother," he said abruptly.

Ragnok was silent for a moment perhaps collecting his thoughts. He was unsure where to begin. "Are you aware about the war with the Dark Lord Voldemort?"

Daniel nodded, unsure why Ragnok was bringing up that madman now. He didn't interrupt the goblin; he was waiting to see where this would lead.

"Lord Voldemort rose to power based on his agenda of pureblood supremacy. The end of the war with the muggle dictator saw a boom in the number of children born, as is typical after a war of this magnitude of destruction. More children also meant more muggleborn wizards and witches. In the early sixties, the number of muggleborns was equal to the number of purebloods, and this ratio only seemed to be increasing with each passing year.

"What the purebloods had taken for granted, they now had to work for – sure, posts in the Ministry of Magic could still be bought – and are still being bought today –, but most other fields was affected by the influx of the muggleborns, and consequently the power they wielded as a collective. The Wizarding Wireless Network was founded by a group of muggleborns and it was soon competing with the Prophet. Muggleborns had groups, clubs, and parties and very soon. All of this only served to cement their position in the eyes of the older pureblood families of wizarding Britain as a threat.

"Lord Voldemort used this sentiment to incite the purebloods in his favour. Like all tyrants, what the Dark Lord most probably sought was power. His way to the top would see the world rid of muggleborns. The promise of power and wealth led several of the lesser pureblood families flock to him like moths to a flame. Within only a few years, most pureblood families stood in support of the Dark Lord; and those who didn't, he labelled them blood-traitors."

"'Traitor'," Daniel scoffed. "That is a strong emotion."

"Indeed, Sir."

"You are telling me this because…"

Ragnok took a sip of water before continuing, "The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had openly declared support to the cause of the Dark Lord; the House would provide contacts, finances and even places to hold meetings. Cassiopeia Black was vehemently against participation in any manner whatsoever. Alphard Black was kicked out of the house when he attempted to take matters into his own hands; he managed to kill eleven of those terrorists before being subdued. Arcturus was forced to remove him in order to avoid a blood feud with the other houses. That fractured the relationship that Arcturus had with Cassiopeia. When she learned that Orion and Cygnus had decided to be marked, Arcturus didn't forbid them. That was the final straw – she relinquished her claims on the Black Vaults.

"Orion soon wrestled a little control from his father and was made the head of the family. By this time, war had already reached its peak – people were dying nearly every day, muggles were being killed for sport while old pureblood lines were being cut down like animals. Arcturus realised his mistake, but it took the death of his own grandson at the hands of the Dark Lord for him to accept. Thankfully, for House Black, acceptance led to action.

"He tried to approach your mother, asking for her forgiveness but it was too late. You see, your mother had invited Arcturus to her wedding and blinded by his anger at her for just leaving him alone here as he fought a war, he had refused to be present there. Moreover, he had forbidden any member of the Black family from going. He had all but declared her dead to the family.

"When he saw his sons die and his other grandson sentenced to Azkaban for leading the Dark Lord straight to the Potters, he didn't know what to do. I was able to set up a meeting between your mother, Cassiopeia, and Arcturus, a year after Sirius Black was sentenced to Azkaban. I wasn't a part of the meeting but I know that is when he decided to name you his successor."

Daniel looked pale as Ragnok continued with his story. His talk with the admiral played on in his mind – these mindless murdering rapists could quite possibly be a part of _his_ family. He could surely appreciate why his mother would have kept this from him. There is no easy way to tell your child that the next time he is at a family reunion he is probably shaking hands with murderers and hugging rapists. He shuddered at that thought. He didn't understand one thing, however.

"Why did she allow it?" he whispered his question. "How could she allow me to be the head of a house filled with such despicable people?!"

For a quick second, Ragnok was taken aback by the malice in his voice. He knew he needed to handle this delicately.

"She didn't blame the people as much as she blamed Arcturus' inaction. She believed that they were misguided by what the Dark Lord was offering and Arcturus didn't offer an alternative that could've acted as a deterrent. What they did was inexcusable, but ultimately, she believed Arcturus was to blame for this.

"There is also something you are perhaps overlooking, Your Majesty," Ragnok said calmly. "You mother would always be a Black by blood – and when she last met Arcturus, things weren't looking too good for the house. One male heir was dead; the other was locked away in Azkaban. Bellatrix seemed like a lost cause and Andromeda had been barred from the house by Orion. Neither of the two bore male heirs. Narcissa's son was the only living male, apart from you, with the Black blood running through his veins – but she would've never allowed Arcturus to give him the Black Family for she knew Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, was one of Lord Voldemort's best men.

"She made the choice knowing that you would, one day, have to come to terms with what _her_ family had done. She didn't want to see the revulsion I see in your eyes right now – and we have moved on from facts to conjecture now – which is why I believe she made sure that the family would stay with Arcturus – or without a head – until she was dead."

That derailed Daniel's train of thought; he was so lost in what House Black had done, that he hadn't paused to consider that everybody he was talking about were _her family_. People she had grown up with, people she had seen grow up! He shuddered as he wondered what an ordeal it would've been for her to see her family fall apart.

Ragnok silently walked to a cabinet and retrieved a bottle of single malt. He poured two glasses and handed one to Daniel. Daniel took the glass thankfully and allowed the alcohol to calm his nerves. He earmarked this conversation for review at another time, before pushing it away; while his occlumency was the only thing keeping his anger in check.

"What happened to Andromeda Black?" he decided to steer the conversation to the present. Whatever more the past had to reveal could be done at another time.

Ragnok smiled as he realised what Daniel was doing. He summoned a file, flipped a few pages and obliged, "Andromeda Black married a wizard called Theodore Tonks. They now have a daughter, Nymphadora, who recently became an Auror."

Ragnok looked up from the file to see Daniel stare at the two rings on his right hand.

"Let my first act as Head of House Black be a tiny step in recompense for all the wrongs my house has done," he whispered. Then he closed his fist and called forth the Black Family Magick. Ragnok could see the shroud of black around him, as Daniel spoke loudly: "I, Daniel, as my first act as the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, bring back to the family a daughter lost: Andromeda Black. Theodore, husband of Andromeda, should now be recognised as being under the protection of House Black. Their daughter, Nymphadora, is recognised as a daughter of House Black and is entitled to everything that that entails. This I have declared; and so shall it be!"

Magick reacted and with a loud pop, the black shroud disappeared.

"What about the other members of my family," he wondered.

Ragnok quickly gave him an overview of the state of the family right now. Narcissa had married into House Malfoy and was most probably at the Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. Bellatrix, who had been contracted to the Lestranges, was currently in Azkaban, convicted for having tortured to insanity the Lord and Lady Longbottom over a decade ago. Sirius Black was charged with the murders of Lord and Lady Potter, another wizard called Peter Pettigrew and thirteen muggles and was last known to reside in the towers of Azkaban prison. He was last spotted by a couple of professors and three students – one of which happened to be his godson – on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"So if I have understood correctly, of the four living members of the house, two are in Azkaban prison, one is married to a man who was one of Lord Voldemort's best men and the only one who has no connection to that terrorist, was kicked out from the family for that same reason?"

A sad smile graced Ragnok's face as he nodded.

"Well, fuck!" Daniel exclaimed in exasperation. "What is wrong with this family?!"

Ragnok chuckled at that. That the goblin leader was smiling broke Daniel into a smile. This was, indeed, beyond his wildest dreams. It was weird just thinking about it, let alone explain it. It thus dawned on him that he would have to explain all of this to others at the Palace. He sighed.

"Would you care for some refreshments, Your Majesty?" Ragnok enquired. Daniel glanced at his watch and realised he had been here for hours. That sundae had done a great job at filling him up. He would appreciate coffee – and he voiced his wishes to the goblin leader.

"The coffee should arrive shortly; but while the coffee is to arrive, there is one final matter which I must discuss with you," said Ragnok.

Daniel sighed inwardly, but nodded at the goblin nonetheless. The goblin leader was just doing his job.

"Well, there is the matter of the contract between the House Black and House –" Ragnok was interrupted as a goblin arrived with coffee and biscuits.

Meanwhile, Daniel had conjured a piece of parchment and a quill with which he began to write. Ragnok didn't wish to disturb him and asked the goblin to wait before serving the beverage. After about a minute, Daniel was done. He closed his right hand into a fist and pressed the ring at the top of the page where the Royal Seal appeared, under which a header read ' _Order for the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_ '. At the bottom, he signed the order with _both_ his rings. Then he tapped the parchment with his wand and a copy appeared right next to it. He picked it up and read: " _By the Order of the King and the Magicks of Our Family and those of The House Black, All Contracts drawn up for and signed on behalf of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black that have Not Been Agreed upon by Our person, are Immediately Suspended and shall be brought to Our notice at Our pleasure. If you should find yourself of the opinion that the matter would require Our approval post haste, you may bring such matter to the notice of The Director Ragnok of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, London._ "

"There," he said as he handed Ragnok the copy. Never having heard anybody break so effortlessly into the 'majestic plural', Ragnok was still surprised at how quickly and effectively that matter had been dealt with. Contracts had always been a matter which took up significant amount of time whenever a new head took his position – they came with their own ideas and interpretations and believe that to heckle was their right. The goblins had no choice but to attend to these matters since all contracts would be re-activated as soon as Magick accepted the new head; not many people wanted to be bound by contracts they didn't willingly enter. Unfortunately, and unless there was a way out in the contract, these were bound to the family until they ran their course. He would later ask Daniel how he managed to so swiftly 'suspend' these contracts.

Ragnok, busy in his wonder, had missed a few things that were being said. He caught on about halfway through what Daniel was saying, "... and you can make as many copies as are required by tapping here," Daniel pointed to a small blot in the bottom right corner of the page. "I request that you send these to every party affected by the declaration. I further anticipate that you shall be inundated with requests and I charge you as the arbiter to weed off those matters which do not require immediate attention."

With all immediate matters now sorted, Ragnok and Daniel sat down at a table with nothing between their cups of coffee but for a large plate of assorted biscuits. Daniel helped himself to a couple of them. Ragnok, he observed, was partial to the digestive biscuits. After an otherwise loaded day, Daniel was finally relaxing in the peace provided by Director's office. Although he was several floors below the ground, he found it quite a wonderful place to be in; it was large enough to be befitting his rank as Director, and yet not too large that it becomes lonely. He counted a total of three paintings – and one very wicked looking battleaxe – hanging on the walls.

"It is a symbol of the office," Ragnok informed him as he followed his gaze to the battleaxe, "Like the muggle chiefs carry a baton." Daniel nodded as Ragnok clarified what it was.

"I know a little about those," Daniel winked. That caused Ragnok to guffaw loudly.

"There's something I've been wondering about, Director," Daniel continued. "I understand wizarding families have been banking with you for generations, what of those wizards who aren't born into a magical house?"

Ragnok wanted to make sure he answered the question correctly; but first he needed to know something. "Would you be asking about muggleborns or wizards who do not belong to a recognised magical house?"

"Muggleborns."

"That's simple really," Ragnok supplied. "They can get their muggle currency exchanged for galleons at one of the counters on the bank floor. It is about five pounds to a galleon," Ragnok answered the question he could sense was following.

Daniel paused. He still remembered the galleons he had paid for the sundae. That coin was heavy and it was made of gold. For only five pounds to a galleon, he wondered how it was that no parent of a muggleborn had tried to get more sterling converted to galleons before selling the gold coins in the muggle world. He put forth the question to Ragnok.

"To put it simply," said Ragnok as he put his coffee on the table. "They cannot."

At his questioning look, Ragnok continued, "All gold coins are valid only for transactions made in the magical world. Since it is _charmed_ gold, should they – or any other wizard, for that matter – decide to take it into a muggle jewellery store to exchange for more of their paper money, the muggles would find that the gold is of extremely poor quality and substance; not even worth the price they paid for it when they got it changed here at Gringotts."

Daniel looked thoughtful before nodding. It would seem quite opportunate timing, that they were both done with the refreshments and as such, Daniel believed his work here was done. He glanced at his watch; he had been here far longer than he had imagined. Flourish and Blotts, it seems, would have to be dropped from his plans for the evening.

With the greetings out of the way, Daniel checked he had the ledgers and shook hands with the goblin leader.

At the door, he turned around to inform Ragnok of his plan. "I shall send an elf to collect the files on all matters you may find relevant and you may expect a letter ab –" Daniel stopped abruptly.

" _HELP!"_ he heard an unfamiliar voice scream in his head. Then there was silence. He felt his ring thrum with exigency. It was as if the ring wanted to… communicate with him. He gave a sharp cry of pain and winced as images flashed across his eyes. He saw a woman; her eyes scrunched shut as she seemed to be trying to focus. The scene flashed yet again and he saw two teens; the one standing, a boy, seemed to vacillate between cursing the woman Daniel had just witnessed and going to rescue the lass on the ground. The latter gave a shrill scream that caught his attention and that's when he saw them. Dementors.

"She's in danger," whispered Daniel as he found himself back in the office. He turned to Ragnok as he explained the situation to him. "I don't know who she is, Ragnok, but I know she is a Black and that is all that matters to me.

"Lower the wards around here Director," he all but commanded.

The goblin leader had an inkling of what might have transpired, although the calmness with which Daniel was dealing with it surprised him. Ragnok bowed deep and then acquiesced to the request-order. "It's done," he said.

Without a sound, Daniel had apparated out of Gringotts.

~oOo~

Every Auror was taught the Patronus charm in the Academy – of course, a corporeal Patronus wasn't required of any of them, but they had all been tested to ensure that they could, in the least, cast a shield big enough to protect two other people – one on each side of the Auror. She had successfully cleared that – she only really had a problem in stealth and tracking due to her clumsiness…

Tonks had been rather proud of being able to cast the Patronus. It was a jack rabbit. She had always managed to cast her Patronus in the Academy. That was until she found herself face to face with three Dementors in the middle of muggle London. Things were already looking bad. What made matters worse was that should news get out, _she_ would be responsible for the deaths of Hermione Granger and Harry _fucking_ Potter since she was most assuredly the nearest Auror. She had never spoken with him, but who wouldn't recognise him: he was the Boy-Who-Lived. Her career would certainly be ruined.

Tonks tried her best to clear her mind of all of this, wanting nothing more than to focus on the memory which she had used. She didn't know why, but she cried out for help before she tried to cast the Patronus. 'Tried' being the operative word. _It just didn't seem to work!_

Auror Nymphadora Tonks fell to the ground in despair.

Then, help arrived almost from nowhere.

~oOo~

Before his feet were on the ground, his wand was already drawn. He didn't waste time looking around.

" _Expecto Patronum_ ," he whispered as he waved his wand in a large arc above his head. A bright light erupted from the black walnut wand and the wolf that had manifested as his House Magick cantered out of its tip. The wolf barely took a moment to locate its targets; when it did, with a loud growl, it broke into a gallop, and charged the three Dementors.

Daniel didn't wait around to see the wolf try to throttle those damned creatures; he instead turned around to the woman he had come here for.

"Hey," he knelt down, gently shaking her by her shoulder. She muttered something unintelligible. "Hey, are you alright?"

Finally, Tonks, although Daniel didn't know who she was just then, seemed to come back to reality. She saw a man standing over her but what calmed her most was the wolf she saw behind the man, standing guard over the two teenagers. There was no sign of the Dementors.

… _The two teenagers!_

She tried to get up, only to find that she couldn't. "Sit," she heard the man say. She knew it was a command and yet somehow, he had managed to make it sound like a request. "The Dementors are gone and _you_ need to compose yourself." She didn't realise that she had nodded. "Are you better now?" he asked after a short pause. Again, she nodded. "I'm going to check on them, I want you to keep sitting here." Another nod.

Thankfully, it didn't seem like the two kids had been Kissed. Apparently, the Dementors didn't want a quick meal. Then again, Dementors and Lethifolds never enjoyed a quick meal. His Patronus was standing guard between the two kids; as a pure, protective magical concentration of everything that made one happy, the Patronus would go a long way to help the kids recover. He didn't know the extent of the attack, but the woman seemed fine. The Dementors, oddly, seemed to be fixated on the boy. That would explain why the girl seemed to be coming around already. With a subtle nod of his head, he sent the Wolf Patronus closer to the boy as he went and knelt next to the girl, making sure he wasn't kneeling on any of innumerable strands of hair sprawled around her head. He told her what he had told the woman. She looked a little dazed, but she too nodded at his instructions.

He then focused his attention on the boy. His attempts to sit up were interrupted when the wolf growled at him and he stopped midway, propping his body on an elbow. "Come on, you seem to have been affected the most," Daniel knelt next to the boy. He whispered a thank you to the Patronus; which then cantered around the four of them before vanishing.

His ring wanted to communicate – again. He had a house here, somewhere nearby. He didn't know the location just yet, but it was a Black property. His ring was all he would ever need to access it.

"Who are you?" the boy questioned feebly, trying his best to sit up.

Daniel ignored him as he looked at both the girls. "Come here," he said as he reached out and grabbed Harry with both his hands. "Hold on to my shoulder real tight. We're going to be apparating."

He felt them grip his shoulders and they were gone.

Daniel landed in a room; the boy lay on the carpet while the girls were still getting their bearings. "Side-along Apparation can be quite nauseating," he said offhandedly before he walked to the fireplace and found the book. He turned the book over and found an embossed area at the spine of the book. He pressed his ring against it. He felt the wards shift unto him.

" _Homenum Revelio_ ," he whispered. _One elf, two kids and three adults_ , the spell revealed. The elf was bound to the House – and he had felt his presence as soon as the wards had shifted. The two kids were the ones he had rescued. That left three adults, of which one was he himself and the other would be the woman he rescued. His wand slipped into his hand. _'There is another person living here already,'_ he surmised. Before he could go out to conduct a search, he felt movement behind him. He turned around.

"Who are you?" the boy snarled, although he was yet recovering from the effects of the Dementors and it didn't sound very threatening. There were two wands pointed at him. _Kids_ , he rolled his eyes.

"I will not ask you again," the boy said, this time a little louder. The girl seemed very unsure of what was happening – and in a dire need of some chocolate – but was following the boy's lead. ' _Interesting_ ,' he mused to himself. The woman seemed stunned once more; her eyes were focused on the coat of arms behind him.

"Or what?" Daniel smiled. There was absolutely no chance that the Magicks of the room would allow any curse to be fired at him within the bounds of the property.

The boy was about to say something, when he heard somebody coming down the stairs. ' _The third man_ ,' Daniel realised. He turned slightly to face the door at a better angle. To his right were the two wands still pointed at him, and to his left came to halt another wand. This wand, however, was already halfway through a disarming charm when he stopped.

The boy waved his wand threateningly. "Who are you!" the boy all but yelled. The man who had rushed into the room turned around and shrieked "NO!"

The boy stopped and looked questioningly at the man. "Do you know who he is, Snuffles?"

' _Snuffles?_ ' Daniel smiled inwardly as he filed that away for another time. 'Snuffles' gave the boy a grim smile before he nodded. Then he did something which had the two young kids gasp rather loudly.

Sirius Black looked Daniel in the eye, giving the ring only a brief glance before he genuflected, his head staring at the floor in front of him. Ignoring the gasps of Harry and Hermione, Sirius Black addressed him:

"I am yours to command, my Lord Black."


End file.
